A Year's Worth
by Jubalii
Summary: Twelve months is a long time to tell a story. Even longer to cultivate a romance. (Collection of connected oneshots based around holiday themes)
1. New Year Kiss (Between Friends)

**Author's Note:** This story is supposed to correlate to one year in Labyrinthia with updates on holidays, but… to be honest, have I ever updated anything correctly? _(squints at Hellsing Valentine's Special)_ Still, these can be taken as oneshots on their own that tie together, which is how they'll be placed in Ao3. So… enjoy?

 **Eyyyyy…. I don't own (finger guns)**

* * *

"Miss Eve, a word. Or, rather, a proposition."

She didn't bother looking up from her desk, knowing that he would continue whether or not she asked him to. After years of working alongside Zacharias Barnham, she was used to his rather forward way of expressing ideas. It didn't matter in the slightest if anyone were even listening to him; in fact, she could tune him out easily and it wouldn't mean a thing. When they were both Inquisitors, he would hold one-sided conversations with her for hours, using her as an excuse to get his jumble of ideas into the open so that he could argue his own way to the answers. She didn't even have to get words in edgewise, since he often came to his own conclusions without her help. Clumsy and naïve he might be, but unintelligent he was _not_.

"Proceed, Zacharias," she murmured when he didn't answer, barely paying him any attention. Probably he was merely getting his thoughts in order, a common trait that preceded any longwinded soliloquy on his latest mental deliberations. Reaching into her desk, she pulled out a sheet of fresh parchment and grabbed her quill from its stand. Even though she could technically use a real pen now that the—secret—was out in the open, she liked the sound of her quill scratching against the parchment, the concentration she had to put towards making her lines smooth and even. She loved the look of her handwriting in wet ink, perfectly slanted along the page. It was a beautiful art, writing in such an old-fashioned manner, and one she was loath to give up just because they didn't have to hide behind a medieval guise any longer.

"Well, the bakery has been slower than usual since Yuletide, and so with all the off time I've been doing some thinking. And, considering everything that's happened in the past year, I think that starting the new one on the proper footing is essential. _Essential_ ," he repeated, and she heard the soft press of cloth shoes rather than ironclad boots as he stepped forward. "And so, in honor of the new year I, Sir Zacharias Barnham, ask full permission to give you one kiss."

Her quill fell to the desk.

"A—I—What?" She chalked up her sudden inability to speak as being caught off-guard. No… that was an understatement. Being caught off-guard meant that you expected _something_ in the first place. This…. this completely blindsided her. She cleared her throat and tried again. "New Year's Day was nearly ten days ago."

"I know. That's why 'tis in honor of the new year," he stated proudly. "Closer to the day would have meant 'in the spirit of', not 'in honor of'." She didn't dare raise her eyes to him, not until she was certain of total control over her facial features. There was no false bravado in his tone, nor was there anything that suggested something underhanded was afoot. He simply seemed as honest and jovial as he always was, simply doing the knightly, courteous thing in asking her for a kiss. _But… why me? And why a kiss?_ He must have sensed her confusion and doubt, or at the very least inferred it from her lack of a proper response.

"I didn't mean to overstep my bounds," he said consolingly, taking another step towards her. His shadow fell over her desk, but she still didn't look up. "It just between friends. I heard that 'twas a tradition on the new year to kiss, and I just presumed—well, it seemed the proper thing to do to a friend rather than a stranger. I heard that it was… very common… in the modern world… on new year's…." He trailed off and she finally managed to meet his gaze. He was still dressed for work, an apron covering a modern shirt and a smear of flour stark white against the tanned skin of his jaw. His eyes were earnest and hopeful, but not with desire or anything that suggested less than pure intentions. Was she reading too far into this? After all, he wasn't wrong. Kissing on midnight of the new year was a time-honored tradition.

"You—you _are_ my closest friend," he admitted softly, again taking her utterly by surprise.

"M-me? I am?" she repeated, overawed by the confession. If anything, his cheeks were dusked with only the slightest pink and he broke eye contact, a smile curving his lips as he shrugged.

"'Tis just that I feel I know you best, out of everyone else in town." He toed a crack in the stone flooring. "After all, we've worked together for a long time, and—"

"Oh." Now that she thought about it, the same could be said for him. Even though she spent years trailing after Espella and keeping watch over her for her own sake, even to the point of staging _deaths_ , they had grown apart. They had, of course, rebuilt their friendship from the ground up after the foreign attorney and his friends had left, but she still didn't _know_ Espella like she knew Barnham. She knew how he ate, how he thought, how he exercised, his habits and hobbies… she even knew that he snored very loudly and that there was a tiny mole on the small of his back, just above his waistline. That was nearly as personal as one could get without seeing them as naked as the day they were born. The years of working together in a damp office one level above a dungeon had brought them together in a way she had never considered before this moment.

She thought of all the times he'd brought her dinner from food stalls when they worked late nights. She thought of the many times she'd woken up at her desk to see him working steadily away at his own. _He knows what I look like when I'm sleeping, too!_ she thought with a flurry of panic. _He's probably seen me drooling and… and… oh, do_ _ **I**_ _snore?_ Her cheeks burned with humiliation, though at the time it had been not embarrassing in the slightest to know that he was in the room while she slept. _What's changed between then and now?_ Was it the fact that before they were coworkers, and now they were more friends? She _did_ consider him her friend, didn't she? _I've never really thought about it before._

"Of course." The words had left her mouth before she could think them over. "As friends." He was her friend. Friends kissed sometimes, on the new year. Even if the new year was a week ago. He had no ill intent towards her, and she certainly should have none towards him. There was nothing wrong than a simple, innocent kiss between friends. _**Friends**_ , she repeated firmly to herself. _Why would you think it was anything else?_ a voice in the back of her mind replied smugly.

"Great!" He beamed at her, teeth as white as the flour. She stood, pushing her chair back with her legs and resisting the urge to lick her lips. A kiss between friends wasn't wet, thank god. And it would be over with before she could truly think. Of course, he could always mean that he wanted a peck on the cheek, or the forehead. That would be perfectly acceptable, wouldn't it? It didn't have to be the lips. But it was a new year's kiss. Could one have a new year's kiss on the forehead? She looked him over as she started around the desk, wondering why he had left his armor for more casual wear today. He usually wore it all the time, baking or not, but today he had chosen the apron he'd gotten from Espella for Yuletide. She'd sewed it for him specially. Perhaps he wore it out of politeness. Perhaps he simply liked the apron and it didn't fit over the armor.

He shifted beneath her scrutiny, muscles moving visibly beneath the tight gray shirt he wore under the apron. Did he know, somehow, that she enjoyed the sight of them? How often had she watched him from the bakery table, half-listening to Espella's chatter as she daydreamed, her eyes following every movement of his shoulder blades? No, there was no way he could know. She had been careful, making sure that she was always watching something else when he turned around: the table, the fire in the grate, her own hands. Then again, it had happened long before he had decided to work part-time at the bakery, long before he had stayed on after her birthday, prompted by a new hobby that he enjoyed. Sneaking glances at him—well, all the knights, to be fair—as she walked through the garrison on her way to the Audience Room, half-humoring the odd feelings that she didn't quite understand, or really _wanted_ to feel.

Then her father had died, and everything had changed. Men with muscles had been one of the last things on her mind, and without really understanding what was going on she had curled in on herself like parchment applied to an open flame, losing bits and pieces of who she really was as she threw herself wholeheartedly into her plan for revenge. When it was all over, she had to find herself again, as well as reveal her true self to the town. It had been hard to let people in, when she had spent so long forcing them away. It was not hard to figure out why she only had two close friends. Three if you counted Greyearl, and _that_ was more of an acquaintanceship through her father.

"So… in honor of the new year." She stood before him now, forcing herself to meet his eyes. He tilted his head in a doglike way, watching her closely with a ghost of his earlier grin still playing on his lips. She offered what she hoped was a friendly, welcoming smile. She wasn't exactly sure of her feelings. Nervousness? Well, kissing had never been high on her list of things to do, and she certainly hadn't done it since her earliest teenage years. Anticipation? For what? Him? How laughable. After all, it was only between friends. There should be no feelings other than comradery and the happiness of sharing a warm moment with a pal.

"'Tis an honor indeed, to have spent it in such good company." She was sure he meant everyone in Labyrinthia, and not just her, but for the moment she forgot herself and basked in the compliment. She felt her smile grow and then his hand touched her chin, strong fingers calloused from a life of hard labor and swordsmanship. They were rough against the soft skin just behind her chin, but they were inclining her head with a gentleness that betrayed the knight's tenderhearted nature. She shut her eyes, willing to let him choose where to kiss and hoping, yet _not_ hoping that he would choose cheeks or forehead. Even nose would be fine.

His lips touched hers and she felt a thrill from her hair down to the very tips of her toes. They were soft and warm and—and—she'd never been kissed quite like this before. It was different, _very_ different than the childish pressing of her lips against the thin line of her father's jaw; her only experience with a boy that wasn't her father had been a solid mashing of mouths followed by a quick, disappointing retreat. But this was different somehow: calmer, perhaps, and filled with an delicious heat that melted her insides into a quivering mass of bewilderment. And although it was chaste and simple, with neither party really moving at all and barely touching aside from her hand on his shoulder, and his fingers on her chin— _this is not a friendly kiss._

It lasted one second longer than a neutral kiss. Two seconds. Three. Her heart quickened, a shudder running down her spine. The feeling wasn't unpleasant, rather—rather, she wanted to feel it again. The realization startled her and she pulled away, just enough to break contact and take in a gulp of fresh air. She could smell the rosemary/myrtle cologne favored by many of the men in town; it seemed more potent on him, though perhaps it was just because they were still so close. He hadn't pulled back, his breath puffing over her parted lips. His eyes were closed, face drawn and brow furrowed in concentration.

She only grew more perplexed when he took a deep, steadying breath and opened his eyes, fingers falling from her chin and leaving it oddly cold in their absence. The look in his eyes was intense, almost angry, and she wondered if she'd done something wrong. Still, it was a look that somehow liquefied her innards further, a hot blush staining her cheeks as she drew her hands close to her chest, thighs pressing together. _Had he felt that too? That… whatever it was?_ A small part of her, a part she didn't fully get, wished that it was true. That his stomach was a fluttering mess, his heart beating just a little faster in response to whatever had passed between them in that moment.

He took one step backwards, then another, expression morphing from the cryptic intensity to puzzlement to nervousness. She saw him shut down on himself like a guilty accused on the stand, swallowing thickly as his eyes darted from her to the fireplace, to her desk and back again. His lips parted and she saw his tongue quickly wet them; he took another deep breath and she felt as though he'd stolen it directly from her, her chest aching.

"Ah, um—Happiest of New Years to you, M-Miss Eve," he stuttered hoarsely, tongue flicking over his lips again. She mimicked the motion, tasting the remnants of him there. Her heart skipped a beat, sending a fresh wave of heat to her face.

"You as well," she managed to say, though she couldn't be sure the words were fully audible. A red hue crept into his cheeks to match the one she was sure shone on hers, eyes still moving around the room in a guilty way. A thought popped into her head: _he seems just as stunned as I am._ The novelty of it took her unawares.

"I—I shall see you around the bakery sometime soon?" It was both a statement and a question. She forced her head into motion, managing a small, jerky parody of a nod.

"Yes," she repeated in the same tone, as though she were Birdly's parrot instead of an intelligent human. He nodded as well, halfhearted smile falling into something that, for a quick moment, was more yearning than anything else. He opened his mouth as if to say something else, closed it, and then gave her one last inscrutable look before turning and walking quickly to the door, shutting it behind him. She couldn't hear him moving down the hall the way she usually could when he was in his armor, but she knew that he was walking away just as quickly as he'd left the room.

She fell into her chair, willing her heart to stop pounding against her ribcage, one hand tangling in her hair as she slumped to the desk and rested her head against the cool wood. What did it mean? What had gone wrong? She touched her lips, shocked to find that they were curved upwards in a small smile. It was only supposed to be between friends. And… well, she supposed it had been, all things considering. But… she'd never felt _that_ before. Not even for a friend.

And, despite the warring confusion and happiness it had caused, she wanted to feel it again.

* * *

 **Afterword:** So, the next big holiday is Valentines, so I think I can pull something together by then. Hopefully. Leave a review in the little box if you want to make a Juju happy. Otherwise, well… glad you read this far.


	2. Valentine's Day

**Author's Note:** And now, my favorite cliché! It's a bit of a stretch, but I needed a reason to have the next chapter be about something important, so you got this. Happy Valentine's, everyone.

* * *

February brought with it a weather most sinister.

If the fates had deemed Labyrinthia worthy of snow, its citizens would have gladly considered the cold air a worthy sacrifice for a few days of pleasure. Unfortunately, the tides were against them this winter. Instead of soft, light powder, the northern gales that buffeted the island brought with it a torrential downpour. Those that dared venture outside found themselves faced with a bone-chilling rain that pounded against the closed casements and flooded the cobbled streets. The good people of Labyrinthia spared no expense in order to remain inside, where a warm hearth and dry seats were in abundance.

The week of Valentine's Day, the rain finally ceased. However, the sun was nowhere to be seen. Instead, cobalt clouds rolled stormily towards the distant horizon in all directions without a break, and the glacial winds seemed to redouble their efforts in an attempt to make up for the lack of precipitation. The ocean became a dark, rolling mass of froth that threatened to overturn fishing vessels, spraying the docks with salty foam as the waves rose high enough to wet the sails of the largest ships. A dampness permeated the atmosphere, leaking underneath doors and through casements, penetrating even the tightest scarf and warmest woolen mittens. Unsurprisingly, a serious bout of influenza began to sweep through the town, keeping the newly ordained Dr. Greyearl busier than ever.

Despite the illness plaguing the town and keeping most children and even their parents in their beds and out of the damp, the town still carried on with its Valentine's festivities. The gaiety of the holiday added a certain cheeriness to Labyrinthia, even as shops began to close doors earlier to reduce risk of infection and the primary school remained closed for an extended holiday as its prudish teacher regained her strength. For the healthy, life went on as normally as possible. For the sick... well, there was soup, and if one was lucky, a lover to sympathize with.

Among the ailing was the normally hearty Mrs. Eclaire, who had gone out in the wind one too many times to bring bread to those already struck with the flu. She was in bed now, with newly turned nursemaid Zacharias Barnham making sure that she didn't stir from it until her temperature was normal. That left Espella to run the bakery, and while she did a fine job of it on her own, The Storyteller insisted that she stay well-rested in order to keep her own body from weakening and coming down with flu herself.

This added the bakery among those shops that remained open only half the day, closing at lunchtime to allow Espella free reign in the kitchen without also having to rush across the counter to help customers as well as restock her supplies during the busy parts of the day. Barnham was constantly up and down the stairs, trying to help the young woman as well as trying to keep an eye on the elder woman upstairs. He also carried out the deliveries and went for Mrs. Eclaire's medicine from Dr. Jane, which had Espella claiming that _he_ would get sick before _she_.

On the day before Valentine's, Eve found herself spending time not with a beau, but with a best friend. Even with Mrs. Eclaire ill upstairs, she had allowed Espella to talk her into helping out on the holiday. The bakery was closed, the door firmly shut but not latched, as Barnham was once again after the baker's daily doses. The wind whipped at the roof, whistled in the chimney, and rattled the window panes; still, the draft couldn't worm its way past the impenetrable fortress of oven-baked air that filled the bakery's main room.

With Eve's inexpert, but well-meant help, the two young ladies had finished strawberry tarts, the sugar roses, the sweetheart cakes, and the heart-shaped shortbreads. They had taken a break so that Espella could sneak upstairs and check on her guardian; meanwhile, Eve busied herself with cleaning up the bakery, placing the finished sweets on trays so that the cookie icing could dry and the tarts could settle while she wiped down the counters and washed some of the dishes.

"Sleeping like an angel," Espella announced as she reappeared, arms red from scrubbing away any germs in the washbasin upstairs. "But snoring like a bear," she giggled, quietly closing the door that separated the bakery from the stairs that led to the domestic floor. "Poor Aunt Patty, all stuffed up," she sighed in genuine pity.

"She's over the worst of it now," Eve assured her, drying measuring spoons and placing them one by one back in their matryoshka pattern. "In another week she'll be back on her feet and running this place again."

"A welcome recovery!" Espella laughed, accidentally dusting her hair with flour as she pushed stray locks back into her plaits. "I don't know how she does it, but she can run this place singlehandedly while I can barely make do even with Sir Barnham's help."

"She has more years of experience than you." Eve aligned the last spoon and then brushed stray powdered sugar from her purple sweater. With Mrs. Eclaire's apron being sanitized at the laundress's and Espella dressed in hers, there had been no other apron. Barnham always wore his armor, even in such an inopportune setting, and therefore hadn't needed any smock to keep the dough from his clothing. Thankfully the sweater was a shade of lilac, and the sugar wasn't as noticeable as it would have been had she'd worn her favorite plum-colored one. "Give it time. You'll get better."

"Ah, well. Sir Barnham's the one that's toying with the idea of a bakery, not me." Espella rolled her sleeves back down and pulled two jars of her homemade cherry preserves from each one of her smock pockets. "I want to be an author, like Dad. Or maybe a teacher."

"He... is?" This was news to her. She tried to imagine Zacharias running his own bakery, but she couldn't conjure up even the notion of it. "Does he enjoy it that much?"

"Well, I think he's actually more interested in running his own business. But he likes to cook," Espella admitted, straining as she tried to remove the lid of one of the jars. "and he's...getting... _better!_ " With one final yank the lid popped free, preserves sloshing onto the counter. Eve wrinkled her nose at the mess. "Oh no! They didn't stiffen up."

"You can say that again." Eve took the jar and tipped it carefully, watching the softened mixture. "It's oozing."

"Ugh." Espella clicked her tongue as she haphazardly wiped the spilled preserves on her sleeve and rubbed it against her hip, staining the ear of the embroidered black cat. "Well, I was going to use them for thumbprint cookies, but they're too runny." She tapped a finger against her chin. "Maybe..."

"Pies?" Eve suggested, tapping the jar against the counter in a vain attempt to make the mixture settle. "Or a cobbler, perhaps." Espella clapped her hands together.

"No, I've got it!" She grinned broadly, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Dumplings!"

"D-dumplings?" Eve repeated in confusion. Dumplings were for meat, not fruit. And they could have to be fried instead of steamed. But if Espella noticed the uncertainty in her tone, she ignored it.

"Cheery Cherry Dumplings!" She grabbed the other jar and began to work on its lid as well. "A bakery original! We can roll the dough thin and...and..." She grunted in effort. "Here Eve, hold this," she ordered, unceremoniously shoving the jar into her hands. Eve held it still while she continued, twisting with all her might. "We can bake them...instead of... _frying—oh,_ look out!" A sudden, violent effort on the smaller girl's part had them both flying. Eve stumbled back as Espella's full weight fell onto her, hands grabbing for the counter and missing. There was an almighty crash that would have woken the dead—and Mrs. Eclaire, had she not been ill—and then Eve found herself staring at the ceiling before she knew it, blinking stupidly at the rafters.

"Oh, oh no!" Espella was sprawled atop her, but now she leaned back with her hands over her mouth. Her smock was stained crimson, and at first glance Eve panicked, foolishly forgetting the preserves and thinking instead that the dark liquid was blood, and that Espella had hurt herself on the glass jar. "Eve, I'm so, so sorry!"

"Are you alright?" She asked, feeling a chill on her stomach. She looked to see the jar still intact on the floor near them, the lid lying beneath a shelf. The stone around them looked like a murder scene, spots and chunks of cherry preserves resembling a butcher's backyard.

"Are _you_?" At the question, Eve looked down and cringed. Espella had gotten off with just a stomach-full of preserves, but thanks to the motion of the jar as they fell, her entire sweater was dripping with cherry. The lilac wool soaked up the dark juices like a dry sponge, spreading slowly up towards her collarbone and sleeves. "I'm sorry!" she repeated, voice high and squeaky.

"It's alright." She gently pushed the younger girl away and climbed to her feet before offering her a hand. "It was an accident. No harm done... to me, at least." She held the sopping shirtfront away from her skin with the tips of her fingers. "I'll just borrow one of yours and wash this one in the bathroom before the stain sets." It would be a little too tight, but it was better than ruining a perfectly nice sweater.

"No," Espella protested firmly. "I'll do it. You can't go upstairs."

"Why not?"

"Eve." The blonde put her hands on her hips. "Aunt Patty has an infectious disease. I've already been exposed while you've been downstairs all day. I couldn't forgive myself if I let you go upstairs and you came down with flu. And I think Sir Barnham would murder me if he knew I'd let you." She smirked. "Even if it _would_ give him an excuse to cater to your every whim."

"What do you suppose I do? Wait down here with no shirt on until you bring me one?" she replied irritably. "Or should I only undress here in the open with the shirt you bring me?" Espella did look stumped at that, looking around at the windows. Although the upstairs windows had shutters, the downstairs had nothing to keep potential buyers from seeing the displays. Anyone walking by could get an eyeful. At that moment, almost as if proving her point, a bundled up Lettie Mailer was half-thrown, half-carried by the wind as she made her way down the street with her bulging bag. She waved at them, her hand faltering as she took in the sight of their stained clothing, and then hurried on.

"Well, maybe just on the stairs," she finally conceded with a sigh. "Surely staying on the bottom step won't expose you to flu germs. You won't be there long enough." She ushered her through the door, closing it behind them. She turned and waited while Eve gingerly stripped the stained sweater off and handed it to her. "I'll wash this first, and then bring you a shirt."

"Hurry." Eve crossed her arms as a chill ran through her. After being in the warm bakery, the staircase was cold in comparison. She heard Espella run to the washroom and move around, as well as the sound of the pump being worked and then the splash of icy water into the basin. Resting against the wall, she leaned back and tried to be patient. She knew Espella would have to work the stain out, which would take a minute despite her trying to be quick. She instead tuned the girl out, focusing on the snores which echoed from upstairs and counting them. Indeed, poor Mrs. Eclaire snored like a bear. If word ever got out, the children would be singing a rhyme about it in two days' time.

Time passed slowly, her skin becoming used to the cold. She put her arms down and was trying to decide whether to sit on the stairs when Espella's pale face leaned over the landing.

"It's hanging up to dry now," she stated. "I'll be back with a shirt." Then she was gone again, this time down the hall to her bedroom.

"Fine." She had just settled with her back to the wood again and restarted her counting when the door—the _wrong_ door—flew open without notice. Jumping back with a gasp, she froze in place out of pure shock. Unfortunately, the door was wide open and the man holding its knob was also just as frozen, gray eyes taking in the sight before him in disbelief. There was a pause, where she stood on the fifth stair, looking over the red hair at the glaring openness of the windows, and then she managed to hiss, "Close the door!" as her arms tried to adequately cover her chest.

The door closed, but the damn fool hadn't remained in the bakery. Instead, he was still staring at her almost without shame, his back pressed against the wood as his lips parted. His eyes, which hadn't remained still from the moment he'd arrived, were now firmly locked on the rise of her cleavage. He seemed surprised, confused, most certainly distracted... She tightened her arms around herself, mortified beyond belief and bewildered by his lack of movement, unsure of what to do. Did she scream? Slap him? Why wasn't he rushing up the stairs or back through the door? Why was he not stammering, or apologizing, or _anything_ other than staring at her, slack-jawed?

"Z-Zacharias!" In his name was a plea, unspoken, for him to _please_ go away and leave her to die of humiliation, or at the very least to sink through the wall and becoming part of the framework. What could she do? Turn toward the wall? Turn away? Putting her back to him would block his way up the stairs, and the underwire of her bra was showing near the clasp anyway. _Idiot couldn't have caught an eyeful when I was wearing my better underclothes..._ Of course, it was all his fault no matter what, because any proper gentleman would have closed his eyes by now or went back into the bakery rather than just... _keep staring_!

He didn't leave, but his eyes moved slowly up her neck to meet her imploring gaze.

"Erm—ah—" He licked his lips and swallowed hard, fingers clenching into a fist. She noticed for the first time that he held a bag from Dr. Greyearl. "E-Eve..." Her breath caught in her throat at the rough edge to his voice. It was warmer and uneven compared to his usual tone. "W-what are you doing?" he asked hoarsely, the sound bringing a fresh wave of heat to her face.

"I—" Any real explanation, even the truth, seemed pointless. A hot wash of embarrassment ran over her face and she avoided his eyes, staring down at the sack of medicine and covering her red cheeks the best she could with one hand. Some of her hair, tied loosely in a low ponytail to keep it out of the food, came loose and fell over her shoulder as if taking pity on her. Of all the times she wished magic were real... at the very least, she wished that she could still ring a bell and make him forget everything with a wave of her hand and some well placed ink.

As she stared down at the steps, he bent his knees, placing the sack against the wall. There was a quick movement and she involuntarily looked up to see his bare chest. Her lungs refused to work, mouth drying at the sight. It wasn't as if she hadn't seen him shirtless before, but... it had been at a distance, when he trained with the other knights at the garrison. Never in such close proximity, close enough for her to see the thin, pale scars left from sword practice, to be able to reach out and touch him if she wanted to. She had a sudden image in her mind of running her fingers along his shoulder and down his chest, just to see if his skin was really as soft and warm as it appeared to be.

"Here," he mumbled, banishing the fantasy as quickly as it had come. He was holding out his shirt to her with both hands, trying (and failing) to keep his eyes trained on her feet and not her upper body. He chewed his lip, and she noticed that he was breathing heavily, face slowly growing darker in the dim light of the staircase. She tentatively took it from him, holding it for a moment against her chest before quickly throwing it over her head. It was baggy on him and almost comical on her, the collar too wide and the sleeves too long, hanging down past her hips like a tunic. She pushed the sleeves above her elbows and adjusted the collar so that it only hung a little off one shoulder instead of sagging off both.

"T-thank you," she managed to croak, still flushed and bewildered. He nodded quickly, picking up the bag from where he'd left it and shuffling around her as he began to climb the stairs. He stopped when he reached the stair she was on, turning his head and opening his mouth. She waited for him to speak, but he only stared down at her with a peculiar expression. She had seen it on him before, somewhere... but when? Then it came back to her; it was the same look he'd given her nearly a month ago, when he'd kissed her in their office 'in honor of' new year's, a mixture of longing and something else, something intense and passionate that made his eyes darker and caused her heart to lose rhythm for a beat or two.

"Zacharias?" Her voice was hushed. Above their heads, Mrs. Eclaire's snoring morphed into a loud hacking, followed by the unmistakable sound of a retch. His eyes left her, mouth falling into a concerned frown as he hurried up the stairs. A moment later, she heard him talking in a soft, comforting undertone as he moved about. She let herself fall back, head bumping against the wall of the stairs as a shaky breath left her. She leaned her head back, closing her eyes and swallowing thickly; if she were the type of woman to cry, she might have shed a few tears in her current state.

She slumped down to sit on the staircase, hand in her hair and one knee drawn up to her chest. Could that have gone any more _wrong_? From start to finish, the entire encounter had been too much to handle. She sighed, shoulders slumping. It was his fault—why had he not left immediately after seeing her undressed? No, it was Espella's fault for not letting her up the stairs in the first place, just because Mrs. Eclaire was sick. It wasn't as though they didn't have the woman quarantined to her bedroom... No, that wasn't right either. The fault was hers, for freezing up and not insisting that he go back outside to the bakery, for not pushing hard enough for Espella to let her up to the second story.

She pulled her other knee up as well and rested her forehead there, wrapping her arms around them. Even now, she could smell him in the shirt, his usual cologne enveloping her along with the scent of the lye soap that the laundress used and a faint hint of sweat. Despite everything, she had to admit that the mix of fragrances was strangely comforting.

"Eve?" She raised her head slowly, not yet wanting to leave her thoughts. She hadn't even started dissecting the meaning of that expression, which he had used on her twice now, or postulated on why she hadn't thrown all modesty to the wind and let him see the exposed underwire instead of her breasts. Espella stood in the light from the second floor, a shirt in her hands. "Is that... Sir Barnham's?" Eve nodded silently, and the blonde drew the cloth up to her mouth in mingled shock and horror. "Oh, Eve... I didn't think—oh..."

"I think I need to go home," she managed to say in an even voice, standing up and turning away.

"If you're sure... did he say—he didn't—oh!" Espella seemed to have lost all coherent speech, she was so wrapped up in her imagined scenarios.

"I'm leaving," Eve repeated, opening the bakery door. "Good luck with your dumplings."

"Eve!" She turned as she felt Espella's hand on her shoulder. "Are you alright? You look—"

"I'm fine."

"But—"

"I'm _fine_." She just needed time to think, that was all. She couldn't do it here, with Espella around to worry and Barnham... being there, in the same building, in the same neighborhood. She needed to be at home, in her bed, thinking about what that look meant and why it affected her so, and deciding how she could ever face him again without dying of embarrassment, and how to somehow make him forget what she looked like undressed. "I just need to be alone for a while," she said truthfully. Maybe in a few days or so she'd talk to Espella about it, tell her what happened, ask her opinion on it, wonder aloud with her about why men were so interested in breasts in the first place while eating tarts and cherry dumplings together by the hearth.

But at the moment, solitude was best.

* * *

 _Labyrinthia In February: A Rhyme_

 _Mrs. Eclaire snores like a bear,  
isn't it just a shame.  
Eve got embarrassed  
'cause Barnham saw her chest  
Espella got most of the blame. _


	3. March Birthday

Eve stood on the lower platform of the bell tower, the wind whipping at her cheeks and stinging her eyes. The Labyrinthian winter had decided to remain their visitor for another month, the ocean gales bringing in wave after wave of icy weather to the island. The weather was normally balmy by this time, but the fountains still froze every night and wintry precipitation was a weekly occurrence. Even on a day like today, where the sky was clear from horizon to horizon and the sun shone down with a fierce brilliance, it was cold enough that she shivered through her three layers of clothing. But work was work, whether winter or summer, and it was better to be up here in the wind rather than in the sleeting rain.

She put a hand over her eyes to block the sun as she leaned over the banister, looking out over the town. The fog was unable to obscure the sea shimmering in the distance, white capped waves rushing in to crash against the docks and gulls dancing on the erratic breeze, seemingly held in place by the wind only to dive down to shore a moment later. The town's flags were either held straight out or flapping wildly as the airstreams between the buildings warred for dominance. Above her head, she heard the ghostly echo of a moan as the wind pushed against the bell's hollow interior. She was glad to have pulled her hair up; her neck and ears were colder as a result, but she wouldn't have to brush out countless painful knots later with the ponytail tucked neatly beneath both her cap and scarf.

A hand clapped on her shoulder firmly and she turned with a gasp, nearly losing her clipboard over the side of the banister. It was so loud on the platform that she hadn't been able to hear any creaking footsteps on the tower stairs. Espella jumped back as the surprise passed from Eve to her, her eyes widening and hand loosing the grip on her red hood. It flopped back and her braids fell out, pushed sideways into her face.

"You like to hide in odd places, don't you?" she managed to shout over the wind, her hands trying to grab both hood and braids. Eve motioned her back to the stairs and they descended just enough to be able to hear each other, the wall creating an effective barrier against the elements. Espella let out a breath, smoothing her hair back down. "The wind is _terrible_ up here; you'll fall off the edge if you don't watch out."

"I'm aware." Eve took the time to readjust the scarf beneath her two jackets. "And for the record, I wasn't hiding. I'm working."

"I just meant that I've been looking all over the place for you," Espella explained. "I tried your office, but then Lettie said she thought she'd seen you down by the garrison, and then Ridelle said _she_ thought you were near the alchemist's. It was lucky I happened to look up as I was passing by the Square; I saw you lean over the railing."

"They were both technically right. I've been running all over town this morning, trying to get proper measurements for widening some of the alleyways." She motioned to the platform just above their heads. "I thought if I had a bird's eye view, it would help more than trying to envision it from the ground."

"But in this wind, though?" Espella made a face as they both slid down to sit side by side on one of the stairs. "You'll catch a cold."

"I'll catch a cold just as easily on the ground as in the air," Eve pointed out. "And I wasn't planning on standing up there all morning. Just a few minutes." She tucked her pencil down between the paper and the clipboards metal clasp. "Why were you looking for me?"

"Oh!" The blonde gave her an impish grin. "Guess what I found yesterday?" She didn't give time for guessing, continuing in the next breath. "I know when Sir Barnham's birthday is!" The news didn't have the effect she wanted; Eve stared blankly at her, waiting for something else.

"And?" she finally prompted, when Espella remained silent. She got a reproachful glare in return.

"And!" she repeated in a mocking tone. "I'll have you know I've been trying to find out his birthday since he started work at the bakery. That's been two years this month, Eve!" Had it been? She thought back and was startled to realize that Espella was right. The time had flown by so quickly, it didn't seem like two years. "Apparently it's a bit of a mystery—he never tells anyone. Though, for the life of me, I can't see _why_." She crossed her arms, face twisting in puzzlement.

"I… I had no idea." She had to admit that she didn't know his birthday, though he'd known hers. It had just never came up in conversation, and after that—fiasco was a word, but she wasn't sure if it applied here—last year, he hadn't been able to look at her for a full week without a red face. She'd purposely avoided the topic to save him any further embarrassment. _Although now that I think about it, was that_ _ **embarrassment**_ _?_ At the time, she hadn't thought twice about it, but now she couldn't help but remember that people blushed for other reasons, too…. Just thinking about it made her own cheeks hot, but thankfully they were chapped from the wind and Espella didn't notice the change in hue.

"Well, yesterday while I was helping Dad clean some old stuff out of his office, I found a box of old records. Sir Barnham's was one of them!" She smiled impishly. "I know his birthday, blood type, and where he was born."

"That's all?" _Not much of a record,_ she couldn't help but think.

"That's all I could read before Dad took it away. Something about 'Breach of Confidentiality' and how you aren't supposed to look at other people's medical records. Oh, I know his real name, too," she added defensively. "But only his last name; his first name always was Zacharias, though it's an odd name, isn't it?"

"No odder that Espella." That earned her a light push and a frown.

"Don't be _mean_!" she scowled. "But that's not important. What's important is his birthday's _tomorrow_ , which means we don't have a lot of time to plan."

"I'm sorry, but what are we planning?"

"Sir Barnham's surprise birthday party!" Espella sighed, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. _Surprise party? She spent far too much time with Miss Fey; that sounds like something to be expected from her._ "Aunt Patty's got refreshments down and said we could close early to have it in the bakery. It should probably just be us and Dad since more people makes it harder to surprise someone, but—"

"Espella, if he doesn't want anyone to know about his birthday, he mostly likely _does not_ want any sort of party, especially a surprise party." She tried to keep her voice firm, even as the laughter crept up from her chest at the thought of him being _far_ more than surprised. "You should respect his decision to keep it a secret."

"But we've just _got_ to!" Her eyes shone with a stubborn glint that came straight from her father. "He gave me the most beautiful book of poems for my birthday, and he gave you a birthday present too, don't forget!"

"A lumpy, day old éclair that was a leftover!" she couldn't help but scoff.

"Don't say that! I saw what the original was; that éclair was ten times better!" Espella scolded with such intensity that Eve fell silent. "He worked for _months_ trying to learn really advanced pastry techniques in order to make that for you just because I said that you really liked sweets! And it was terrible to see how heartbroken he was when he couldn't get anything to come out right! It was… undercooked, and the crème was… and the chocolate just…." She waved her hands in the air, a cringing wince on her face at the memory. "But he tried _so hard_ , Eve. Shouldn't we show him how much we appreciate him on his birthday? That's what they're for, isn't it? To celebrate someone that we care about?"

"When you put it that way—but he didn't want anyone to know!" Eve was caught between doing right by his wishes and doing right by Espella's morals, both of which were equally important in her eyes. If he didn't want anyone to know his birthday, than celebrating it was most certainly out of the question. And yet, he had told her he'd took up working at the bakery in order to get some extra income! She hadn't known that it was all just to bake her a damn éclair! She felt hot and confused, trying to remember exactly what he'd said to her that day. Yes, he had mentioned something about the dessert not turning out the way he had intended, but at the time her mind had been hanging on the words 'leftover' and 'your likeness'. _Why would he do months of work… all for me?_

"Don't get worked up over it," Espella said, this time noticing the extra red in her friend's face. "Honestly, I wouldn't do it if I didn't think it was a good idea. Dad and Aunt Patty agree, too. I'm sure he'll understand what we're trying to do for him, even if he doesn't want anyone to know. And he knows that I can keep a secret, so the rest of the town will never find out if he doesn't want them to."

"Oh, so now he's telling you secrets?" Eve laughed. "Do the two of you stay up past bedtime and swap stories?" Espella smiled, the corners of her mouth curving just enough that she felt an odd shiver of trepidation. "What? Has he told you something about me?"

"Oh, I don't know," Espella sang mockingly, twirling one braid. "He _might_ have told me something about you… but I'll never tell."

"What is it?! Tell me," she demanded, but her only answer was that mischievous smile.

"Sorry, that's classified information, Eve. You have to live at the bakery to know," she joked. "Telling you would be a Breach of Confidentiality."

"Espella!" She boxed the smaller girl in, pulling out her most effective Darklaw-interrogation glare. "What's the last thing he said to you about me?" Espella thought a moment, actually stumped, and then giggled. "What!?"

"I think Miss Eve washed my shirt before she gave it back. It smells like those flowers," she growled in an impressive imitation of him. A fresh wave of heat burned through her and she fought the urge to cover her face. _Of course you'd have to bring_ _ **that**_ _up._ She still wasn't sure how she could face him every day without resembling a tomato. It had been bad enough handing him the shirt back, unable to meet his eyes as she managed to choke out her thanks.

"O-of course I washed it! What kind of person returns clothing unwashed?"

"It wasn't dirty." Espella paused. "Unless… you wore it all afternoon, Eve?" she asked with a false innocence, batting her lashes.

" _I_ _did not_!" She really hadn't, having stripped it off immediately after making it home. She couldn't have torn it off faster had it been on fire. For Espella to even imagine that… _Oh god, what if_ _ **he**_ _imagined that too?! Have I broken some kind of protocol for borrowing a man's shirt?!_ As bad as it was for another girl to imply that, for him to go around thinking that she'd been wearing his clothes was… unacceptable!

"It's another reason for you to show your appreciation. He loaned you the shirt off his back when you were naked in his alcove."

"You're the only reason I was naked in his alcove!" she exclaimed, thoroughly mortified. "You and your dumplings!"

"They were delicious and you know it." She looked up at the wooden slats of the platform. "Do you think he ever looks at you and remembers what you look like without a shirt on?"

"I don't want to know that!"

"Do you ever look at him and remember what he looks like without a shirt on?"

"No!" _Yes._

"Which do you think he likes more: you with his shirt, or you without a shirt?"

"Change the topic, _please_!" Now she really did cover her face with her hands, resting the clipboard on her lap. _Why would it matter to him, unless he_ —behind her fingers, her eyes opened. Why would Espella think such a thing, unless he'd said something to her about it? Was she serious when she said that he'd told her secrets? _Did he tell you that he has feelings for me, Espella?_ Would she get a straight answer, if she were able to pose the question at all? She peeked through her fingers to see Espella staring intently at her, mouth set in a neutral line. "Espella…?"

"Eve." Slowly, the girl's bright eyes slid away. "Don't ask me any questions I can't answer, okay?" Suddenly she was all seriousness, hands clasped around her knees. "I don't like telling you no." Slowly, she brought her hands down from her face and mimicked the posture, drawing her own legs up and trapping the clipboard between her chest and thighs. The wind rocked steadily above their heads as they fell into silence. Finally, she sighed and put her chin on her knees.

"If you've been sworn to secrecy, than I won't try to drive the truth out of you. Besides, you're probably not the one I should pose such questions to." They smiled at each other, and Espella leaned over to bump their shoulders together lightly. "But, if you're thinking what I think you're thinking, then your refusal to answer is all the answer I need."

"Well, not _exactly_. Then again, we may not be thinking the same thing." Espella tapped her nose with one finger. "Great minds think alike, but if they did that all the time we'd have world peace." She laughed again. "And so what you're thinking I'm thinking you're thinking is not what I'm really thinking that you're thinking I'm thinking."

"Ugh, stop." The last thing she needed was a headache. "Fine, so what about this surprise party?"

"Well, other than getting a gift, I need you to be the one to distract Sir Barnham while we get it ready. Take him around town and pretend you need his advice on the alleys or something," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "Just keep him out of the bakery and then bring him there at one o' clock. Can you do that for me?"

"I can try," she agreed. "What are you going to get him as a gift?"

"I thought about baking a special cookie. I've been trying to experiment whenever he's not around, but he's been busy helping Aunt Patty with hot buns the last two days. I'm going to have to do it tonight, after he goes to bed." She frowned and tapped at her temples with her knuckles. "The problem is that he's such a light sleeper… if I make any noise in the bakery after hours, he's going to think I'm a burglar. I wouldn't be surprised if he tackles me from the staircase."

"Bring the things you need to my house. You can work on it in the kitchen." It seemed like a good plan, but Espella shook her head.

"If I start carrying things out of the bakery, he'll get suspicious." They both thought a moment more. "Maybe Jean can give me a sleeping draught to slip into his drink tonight."

"You can't drug him, Espella." She made a face, but shrugged in agreement. "Look, send him on an errand to my house late this evening. It'll take him longer to get there and back in the dark, but you'll still have to work fast."

"What on earth am I supposed to ask him to fetch? He'll just say that it can wait until tomorrow."

"I don't know! Just make something up and say you can't wait for it. Then when he gets to my house, I'll just pretend to search around before saying I don't have it. Be convincing." Espella thought for a moment, and then nodded.

"I'll just pretend to tear up or something," she said to herself. "I bet that'll make him run for it."

" _Espella_ ," she couldn't help but chide.

"Well, it's not like we have any other ideas!" She stood up, brushing the back of her cloak. "What are you going to give him, Eve?"

"I… don't know yet. I'll think of something." What did he _need_? She had never even seen the inside of his bedroom before, much less known what he was lacking. Even his hobbies were hard to buy for. She didn't know his clothing size—she wished now that she had been more curious and examined his shirt while washing it. She didn't know if he enjoyed reading or not, so buying him a book would be useless. She made a mental note to walk around some of the shops before going home and see if anything stood out.

"Oh, I'm excited!" Espella balled her fists, racing down the stairs before turning and calling back up to her. "I can't wait!"

"Why?" she replied, even as the girl ran out into the wind and was beyond hearing range. "It's not as if it's your birthday."

* * *

"Are you sure you need my assistance with this?" He trudged behind her as she walked briskly up Main Street, hands in his pockets.

"Doubting my judgment, Sir Barnham?" She pulled her High Inquisitor tone for emphasis and heard him stumble behind her.

"Forgive me, but I just think I'm not best suited for…alleyways." A moment's pause, and then his steps quickened as he rushed to catch up to her. "I have neither good nor bad feelings towards their width, personally. I'm afraid I won't be much help."

"If you're unable to stand a little chill, than say so." She stopped, pretending to measure an alley with her hands before clucking her tongue. "Much too small." To be fair, she was also tired of walking around in the icy air, but there were still fifteen minutes before she could walk him back to the bakery. They were counting on her to keep him occupied for the full two hours, and if that meant braving the elements than so be it.

"'Tis not that," he argued quietly. She turned around, sizing him up with a solemn frown. He was dressed in a thick coat that was somehow bulkier than his armor, a navy scarf wound around his neck. Even so, his cheeks were rosy from the wind and his eyes sparkled in the sunshine. She felt a tugging sensation in her chest and brushed it aside, refusing to allow herself any wayward thoughts. _Not today. I have a job to do._

"Zacharias, if I wanted someone else's opinion, you would not be standing here right now. I want yours, and yours alone." Even though it was meant to be strictly professional, she still felt the same confusion she'd felt speaking to Espella and turned away quickly before it showed on her face. "Now stop complaining and let's go. The faster we walk to the Square, the warmer we'll be." He didn't say another word, but suddenly he was walking abreast of her with a renewed spring in his step.

They reached the Square in record time. It was deserted, most people opting to stay at home out of the wind. Eve wouldn't have minded a nice fireplace herself, and used her companion's body to block the brunt of the wind as she spoke useless words about widening such and such lanes, where two people couldn't pass easily without having to fall behind one another.

"I think that is why they're alleys and not roads," he pointed out when she was through, speaking close to her ear so that she could hear him clearly. "Is it truly so important to you?"

"Well—" She checked her watch and saw they had five minutes left before the hour. _Damn, running late._ "I can make nothing of it right now," she huffed with pretend annoyance. "Let's go back to the bakery and I'll think it over." She nearly burst into laughter at the expression of relief on his face.

"Let's!" he agreed, and to her surprise he took her hand and tugged her back in the direction they'd come. He doubled his speed and she was forced to jog to keep up, trying to shout at him over the wind and failing as her eyes watered. She coughed and gave up, focusing on keeping upright and not tripping on the cobblestones as he raced them towards the bakery, where he knew there was a warm fire and something to eat. Finally she managed to shake his grip and had to stop, hands on her knees as her lungs protested against the cold air she was gulping down.

"Fool," she managed to hiss, a stitch in her side throbbing painfully. "I can't run that fast in these boots."

"My apologies, Miss Eve. I didn't consider your heels." A hand pressed gently against her back and she stood up abruptly, brushing him aside. The bell pealed once—one o' clock. They were expecting them back any minute. Looking up, she could see the corner of the bakery at the end of the street. Had they really just ran across town in less than five minutes?!

"This isn't a race!" she fussed, berating him with a cold glare. "Now, if you can manage to walk decently these last few feet…"

"O-of course, my apologies," he repeated, utterly subdued. They walked in silence and she sighed to herself, feeling a pang of guilt. She hadn't meant to shout at him on his birthday. She looked sideways to find him staring straight ahead, his forehead crinkled as he thought about something. She reached out tentatively and then, before she could rethink and change her mind, she looped her arm around his. The muscle tensed beneath her palm, but he said nothing. Hazarding another glance, she saw a goofy smile stretching from ear to ear. The sight both pleased and annoyed her.

When they reached the bakery, he rushed to open the door and held it for her. She stepped through, taking one look at everyone inside. They all wore their best clothes (Eve had hers on as well, but thankfully her long coat was a good disguise), the Storyteller's hair brushed up out of his face and scarlet bows on the end of Espella's braids. Even Mrs. Eclaire had lost the oven mitts and handkerchief, her hair neatly curled around her ears. Barnham shut the door, and they waited until he turned around to face them.

"Happy Birthday!" they chorused, voices ringing out together in the small room. Constantine, his fur brushed to a fluffy perfection and a new kerchief wound around his neck, barked wildly. Even Eve the cat managed a purr, winding around Espella's legs and staring at the knight with large, unblinking eyes. Barnham's scarf, which he'd been working on unwinding from his neck, fell to the ground in a heap. His eyes moved from them to the table, where Espella had placed a vase full of beautiful wildflowers and stacked the four gifts around it neatly. On the other end, a large cake was immaculately decorated by Patty's steady hand.

"W-what?" He stood at the threshold, looking with confusion from one face to the next before staring in disbelief at the table once more. "I—erm—what?"

"It's a surprise party, for you!" Espella came around the table, throwing her arms around his middle and nearly losing herself in the thick coat. "For the day of your birth," she teased, her voice muffled by the fabric.

"But I—what?" He looked faint now. "Eve, d-did you know about this?"

"Constantine didn't wrap that gift for you," she replied brusquely, standing off to the side. It was unclear to her whether he was merely surprised or upset. His expression was indiscernible as he stood there watching everyone over Espella's head. She fiercely hoped it was the former, but as the time passed and no one moved, she became concerned. Maybe they'd made a larger mistake than they knew….

"These girls have taken it into their heads to show you just how much they care about you," Mr. Cantabella said in a tranquil voice, gently untangling his daughter from the statue that Barnham had become. "Patty's baked your favorite cake and put at least three layers of buttercream all over it; I believe she plans to kill us with kindness."

"And there are presents, too!" Espella chirped, motioning to the parcels around the vase.

"More presents, more problems," Barnham said vaguely, his voice hollow. Eve recognized the words as belonging to Ms. Primstone, but the way he'd said them… somehow she didn't think he was thinking of the teacher. He cleared his throat and removed his coat, hanging it slowly on the hook. When he turned to face them, his expression was guarded, but he took the seat of honor at the table when Mr. Cantabella held it out for him. Espella's smile faltered and she looked at her father, who took the first gift and put it between Barnham's hands on the table.

"This one is from myself. I admit that it's a bit juvenile, but I thought you might like it just the same." There was a pregnant pause as Barnham stared down at the package, and just when the tension became unbearable his hand slowly rose and pulled at the ribbon. He looked up to see everyone watching him, his fingers hesitating on the pastel paper.

"I've… never had gifts before," he admitted. The statement took her by surprise; surely he had birthday parties as a child, hadn't he? Espella grinned.

"That's because you never—" Eve's hand flashed out before she could think, clapping on Espella's thin wrist and squeezing warningly. The girl obediently lapsed into silence, looking up at her with wide eyes. "Well, you have them now," she amended, licking her lips. "Go on, open it. I want to see what Dad got you." He nodded and ran a finger beneath the tape holding the paper together, tearing it off to reveal a box. Eve couldn't see what was in it, but his eyes lit up when he opened it up and her heart lurched in a pleasant way.

"Why, look Constantine." He pulled out a stuffed dog that was every bit of the real one's likeness. "'Tis a friend for you." The pup froze, inching forward to sniff cautiously at the blank bead eyes of the stuffed dog. When it didn't move, the hackles slowly settled and then Constantine's tail began to wag. Barnham's fingers moved over the fluffed ears and he placed it on the table beside the box. "I thank you, Story—Mr. Cantabella, sir."

"Mine next!" Espella called, placing a thin square box in its place when Mrs. Eclaire removed the empty one. Barnham didn't hesitate as long this time, opening it up to reveal cookies. He picked one up; it was shaped like his head, chocolate chips making do for eyes and cinnamon sprinkles accenting the orange icing of the cookie's 'hair'. Eve peered over his shoulder to see a variety of Labyrinthian faces smiling back up at her.

"Oh, Espella!" Mrs. Eclaire said in delight. "How cute they are!" She was laughing as she picked up her own likeness, white frosting making a little handkerchief over her hair and a tiny wrinkle forming her dimples. When she picked up the cookie, Eve saw her own face, a tiny icing smile and pink cheeks forming a shy expression on the cookie's surface. She mirrored it and moved away, wondering how Barnham would be able to eat any of them. Even as she thought it, he ate his own head from the eyes up in one large bite and chewed thoughtfully.

"Delicious," he announced after he swallowed, and Eve's heart lurched again as some of his old demeanor crept back into his voice. "I thank you, Espella. It must have been hard to decorate all of these; you put a great deal of effort into it." This earned him another hug, this time from behind as she nearly choked him. She whispered something in his ear and he turned pink, but nodded. Patty replaced her cookie on top and closed the box, placing it next to the dog.

"Which next?" she asked, motioning to the two gifts left. Barnham chose the left one. "That's from me." This was opened even faster now, and he pulled out two oven mitts embroidered with his name and swords on the backside.

"Like mine and yours!" Espella said, taking one to admire the craftsmanship. Mrs. Eclaire nodded.

"I can't imagine you not being here at the bakery, so I thought it was about time you officially joined the roster with your own mitts." She winked at him. He looked back down at the mitt, his index finger tracing the shape of one sword. Eve started when he looked back up, his jaw tight.

"I thank you," he said again, this time hoarsely. "I… Mrs. Eclaire." _Is he trying not to cry?!_ His shoulders tensed and she was suddenly sure of it, in the way he held his head down until he was able to control the expression on his face. He cleared his throat loudly, too loudly, and nodded. "I promise to live up to the expectations set by these."

"Oh," the baker tutted, reaching out and stroking his hair. Eve thought there were tears in the woman's eyes, but it must have been a trick of the candlelight; she blinked and they were quite dry. "You're more of a help than you give yourself credit for. I'm daily thankful for you, Zacharias."

"There's one more," Mr. Cantabella pointed out. "Eve's gift is the last." It was also the smallest, and she'd made a mistake in wrapping it but had been able to hide it with the bow. She crossed her arms as the gift was sat before him, an irrational fear bubbling up in her gut. _What if he doesn't like it? Compared to the others, it's a little…_ She forced herself to calm down. He'd like the gift; she'd thought of him the moment she saw it in the display window on Main Street. There was no reason to think he'd scoff at it. But all the same, she was still nervous as he pulled off the ribbon and tore the paper.

"Oh, Eve…." Espella's eyes lit up as she looked into the box.

"Well, take it out and let us see," Mr. Cantabella urged, leaning over the table. Barnham pulled it out, and she smiled at the way it caught the candlelight and sparkled. It was a watch, one of the newer styles in the clocksmith's shop.

The strap was leather and thin like the tourist's watches, but the clock face held an Old English flair. It had a pearly sheen, banded with gold and painted with gold numerals for the numbers. Underneath the clocksmith's stamp, there was a small window that opened into the inner workings. There, one could see the gears at work, making the hands tick and the time flow. She knew he'd enjoy seeing the inner mechanics of the watch the moment she spied it sitting at the forefront of the display. That had been the factor in an impulse buy, but she had admitted to herself that it was also a practical and safe gift. Everyone needed to tell time.

"Oh, what a handsome watch!" Mrs. Eclaire praised, a hand on her cheek.

"Look Dad, you can watch the gears move! You know, the professor told me a really interesting puzzle about gears." They all admired the watch, the quality of the leather, the brightness of the gold numerals, but her eyes were trained on the recipient of the gift. When they quieted down, he looked up at her and she tensed, caught up in the warm glow that seemed to pour from him.

"Miss Eve…." He smiled, suddenly, and then shook back his sleeve so that he could wear it immediately. "I thank you. I'll treasure it." He tapped the face, eyes following the eternal trek of the gears before he looked around the room and his jaw tightened once more. "I… I don't know what to say. A mere thanks is hardly enough. I feel… as if…." He trailed off, looking down at his lap.

"Nonsense!" Espella slid into the seat next to him, patting the stuffed dog's head. "We're family, and families throw birthday parties for one another. And eat cake, which we haven't done yet." She looked pointedly at Mrs. Eclaire, who held up a handful of candles.

"I'm afraid I couldn't find twenty five of them, but I do have two and five, which make seven." She put two candles on one side of the top tier and five on the other.

"Seven is considered an auspicious number in many countries," Mr. Cantabella said, taking a seat across from his daughter. Eve moved to join them, sitting on his left. Mrs. Eclaire lit the candles deftly and placed the cake in front of the knight.

"Don't forget to make a wish before you blow out the candles!" Espella advised, watching happily. The candles lit sparks in her eyes and Eve realized that the girl was even happier than she would have been on her own birthday, because she was living her dream of seeing _him_ happy. _She must really care about him_. It didn't surprise her; Espella was very much like Barnham in many ways, selflessness being only one of them.

"Aye." Barnham looked seriously at the cake a moment and then took a deep breath, blowing all the candles out in one try.

"Oh, that means your wish will come true," Mrs. Eclaire said happily, brandishing a knife instead of her rolling pin. She cut a generous piece and served him first, followed by the rest. Espella dipped her fingers into the thick frosting and let Constantine and Eve get a taste, an act that would normally have prompted a scolding. This time, the baker overlooked it as she argued in a friendly way with the old man about how big a piece he wanted versus how big a piece he _needed_ , the latter being far smaller than she was willing to cut. He settled on a middle-sized piece and then and she split the remainder of the lower tier between herself and Eve before taking a seat.

The cake was light and moist, the buttercream frosting whipped and flawless, settling on her tongue in a myriad of sweet and subtle flavor that made her toes curl in her boots. _If I ate like this every day, I'd be the size of a house_ , she thought as she took another bite. Espella moaned in bliss, licking the icing from her fork. Barnham was wolfing his piece down, exclaiming between bites about how delicious it tasted.

When they were finished there was the top tier to devour, and then the rest of the evening was filled with laughter, conversation, and puzzles about gears that stumped Mr. Cantabella until Barnham and Espella showed him the proper way to solve it. Every so often, she saw him stare at the watch, or gently touch the mitts, and the same look of incredulous wonder would pass across his face. _What is he thinking?_ She never let him catch her looking, always turning back to the puzzles before he could see just how closely he was being watched. After some time, she looked up to see that night had fallen while they were all busy drawing different diagrams on spare paper.

"Oh, I should probably head home," she announced, standing up and reaching for her coat. "I didn't realize how late it was." They all made to rise, but Barnham scrambled to his feet before Mr. Cantabella could even push back his chair.

"I'll walk you home," he offered, grabbing his own coat as well. "Stor—Mr. Cantabella, would you like to come with us?" The older man looked at him, then at Eve, and shook his head.

"Oh no, I think I'll stay here a bit longer. I want to make sure I understand some of these," he excused himself easily, tapping the papers with one finger. "I had no idea we had such a puzzle aficionado in the family." Espella beamed and put her hand on his, even as her cheeks reddened.

"Oh, Dad," she sighed in embarrassment. "I'm not an aficionado." By the time Eve was properly wrapped up, goodbyes said, and Mrs. Eclaire had made her promise to come to dinner next week, Barnham had the lantern lit and held the door open for her. She hissed under her breath as the wind hit her full force, nearly unbearable after the cozy warmth of the bakery. Wasn't there a law of nature that said the wind had to stop blowing at some point during the day? Why couldn't spring hurry up and arrive?

The streets were as deserted as they'd been during the day, lights flickering from behind shuttered windows and warmth pouring from beneath doors. The moon was high above them, casting such a bright light that they almost didn't need the lantern. It did little to light anything except the walls and a bit of the ground as they both walked quickly towards the wall.

"Did… did you like your gift?" she asked timidly, the silence impersonal after the joviality of the bakery. He was quiet, keeping in step with her as he looked straight ahead. The forest loomed before them, but it was only after they passed the walls that he replied.

"More than I can safely say, I think." It was an answer that confused her; she wasn't sure whether to press or not.

"You said… that you had never had any presents before," she ventured cautiously. He didn't answer. "And Espella found your birthday out by accident; she said you wouldn't tell her outright." Still he was quiet, but she knew he was listening. The wind was broken by the trees, and she slowed down. He obligingly kept pace with her, the lantern casting erratic shadows on the gnarled branches all around them. She took a deep breath. "Is there a reason—"

"I would prefer not to speak about it." He sped up just enough that she was looking at his back, his face hidden from view. "Please respect my wishes on this." The hollow emptiness had returned to his tone, and she found that she hated it. It sent weird chills up her arms and down her spine.

"Of course," she agreed, somewhat reluctantly. The silence grew between them and she hugged herself, both to save what body heat she had and for some form of reassurance. Had she offended him? "I apologize if we offended you with the party, Espella and I just thought—"

"No apology is necessary," he interrupted, though he didn't fall back into place next to her. She watched the back of his head, hair brushing the lower hanging branches and vines. "I enjoyed myself, despite whatever my first misgivings were." _So he hadn't wanted a party after all._ She couldn't help but praise her own logical judgment, and berate herself for letting Espella talk her into giving him one. She just couldn't shake the look in his eyes when he heard the words "Happy Birthday". He turned suddenly, stopping in the center of the path, and she nearly ran into his chest.

"Is something the matter?"

"Don't be scared of me, Eve." It seemed such an odd thing to say. "You don't have to worry about offending me," he clarified. "I could see that there were only the purest intentions at heart. That's why I allowed myself to enjoy the gifts and the party. But my—the day of birth was never a celebratory occasion before today. I don't…." He seemed to struggle with something, looking out at the shadowy woods. "There have been many times in my life that I cursed it."

"Cursed it?" His shoulders fell and he worked his jaw, staring at their shoes. "No, I'm sorry," she spoke up, reaching out to put a hand on his arm. "I just made a promise that I would respect your wishes. You don't have to talk if you don't want to." Their eyes met and she swallowed, forcing what she hoped was a friendly smile on her face. "Of course, if you ever do need someone to speak to…."

"Yes, thank you." The leaves rustled above them and he turned, pointing to the path. "'Tis unhealthy to stand out in the cold. We should get you home." She reached out and looped her arm through his again, this time as much for warmth as it was in apology. He allowed, slowing down to walk at her side and tucking his scarf into his coat so it wouldn't flap in her face every time they passed through a clearing. When they reached her house, she unlocked the front door and motioned for him to step inside.

"Come on. You should at least warm up before making the trip back." Her house wasn't the warmest in town, but a fire and a cup of tea would put him at rights. He wouldn't be getting ill on her watch, and she somehow felt that she owed him.

"Only a moment," he warned. "I really must be getting back." She lit the lamps in the hallway quietly, something stirring deep within her.

"You know?" _What are you doing?_ The logic side of her mind sat up on high alert. "Um… I've read that in some places… much like new years, there can be birthday kisses." The words left her in a rush. _Are you out of your mind!?_ She thought she just might be. "As friends, I mean. And, erm—if you weren't adverse to it, and you truly wanted a full birthday _experience_ —" _You're insane! Insane! Go lock yourself in the dungeon this instant, Eve Belduke. You are flirting with_ _ **disaster**_ _!_ "I'm only offering because Espella nearly choked you to death with her last hug and she'd get too into it." There was a clunk as he sat the lantern on the hallway table.

"I believe that… 'tis only proper. If I'm to celebrate my birthday for the first time, then I must embrace all traditions." _Even possibly made up ones,_ her inner voice growled. _You don't know if such a thing exists. Birthday kisses. How foolish._ She brushed the thought aside, motioning him closer. He stepped forward, looking down at her expectantly, and she felt a pang of jealousy. Espella really was able to just throw herself on him, since they acted more like brother and sister rather than friends. She didn't think twice about wrapping her arms around him. Her, on the other hand… just the thought of her face against that jacket was...

"Eve?"

"Let's see," she said quickly, before he asked her too many questions and she lost her resolve. She tugged on his shoulders and he bent down. It had been the beginning of January when she last kissed him, but the minute his lips touched hers it was as familiar as anything. _Because you spent the last two months reliving it, that's why._ It was chaste and simple, and she didn't linger the way he had during their new year's kiss. His eyes drifted closed, as though he were savoring the moment, and she felt the urge to do it again.

"I thank—" She swallowed his gratitude, tugging him back by the collar. _Oh, so Espella was the one that would get too into it?_ His hand found her waist and settled there, shifting just enough that it was easier for him to stay bent. _Damned fool,_ her mind muttered, a little more quietly. "W-what was that one for?" he asked when she let him move back, voice warm.

"Last year. Belated." She smoothed down the collar, unable to look him in the eyes. _Might as well go through with it,_ Her reason threw up its hands in defeat. "And I believe I knew you for five years, before the last two." He needed no more encouragement, dragging her flush against him and holding her there in a tight grip as his mouth found hers once more. His kisses were soft, experimental, pulling sounds from her that she'd never heard from anyone, much less herself. Hers were bold and questing in return, exploring his mouth and doing things she'd only read about. Finally they had to breathe, and she was glad when he broke them apart; if it were up to her, they might have smothered first.

"Seven," he mumbled, fingers brushing along her jaw as they caught their breath.

"What?"

"Seven," he repeated. "Five years and two years. An auspicious number."

"Well then, you ought to be set up for the luckiest year yet." His hand moved from her jaw to her neck, tracing the curve from chin to collarbone and continuing beyond. She made a sound when he didn't stop at the rise of her breasts, and he rested it over her heart in a silent compromise.

"Eve, I… somehow, I don't think those last few were very _friendly_ kisses."

"I don't think any of them were." He seemed to know what she meant, and he blushed darkly.

"Would you have kissed me otherwise?" he asked softly. She didn't know how to answer. Probably not? Maybe? "What are we? I mean, are we… do you think… hmm."

"Do you call yourself a man?" she scoffed, shaking her head at him. Couldn't he just do one thing properly? He was acting as though this was a first crush and not… whatever it was. _It might be a first crush,_ she told herself, but discredited a moment later. _Surely there was someone before me. Someone prettier._ He frowned, but then her face was angled up and he kissed her within an inch of her life, leaving her breathless and panting, leaning against him with all thoughts put on hiatus.

"Do _you_ call me one?" His tone was smug, and she didn't dare look up to see the it mirrored on his face. "What do you think?" _I think I'm in trouble._

"Fair enough," she managed to choke out. "But if you're going to ask me out, just do it and save us both the trouble."

"Fine. Go out with me."

"When?"

"Tonight, tomorrow, what does it matter? Anytime." He kissed her cheek with a feather-light touch. "Just as long as we keep doing this, alright?"

"Tonight?" she repeated, pushing him away. "My, Sir Barnham: are you having lecherous thoughts? It's already so late…." She bit back a laugh at the shocked gasp that came involuntarily from him. "But I might be able to pencil you in this Friday, if the offer stands."

"P-perhaps noon?" he stated hopefully. She pretended to think it over, secretly happy that she'd been able to cheer him up. She didn't like seeing him so solemn and angry with—what, himself? Someone he remembered from the past? It was hard to say, but she wouldn't press him on it. She understood all too well that there were some things too difficult to speak of. The most she could do would be to stay in his corner and offer her support.

"Noon is fine." If he weren't so encumbered by the jacket, he might have leapt clear to her roof with excitement.

"Then I will see you on Friday!" He rushed up to her and pulled her into a suffocating embrace, the zipper of his coat poking her cheek painfully. "Don't forget!" And just like that he was gone, the lantern left behind on the table and sputtering weakly as the candle burnt out. She stood in the doorway, watching his already-distant form meld into the forest seamlessly before shutting the door and smiling at the wood.

"As if I could forget."

* * *

 **Afterword** : March is passed (in the story at least). There's not a (n American) holiday for March besides St. Patrick's Day—and that is just an excuse for people to get drunk without learning a smack of Irish history or—but I digress. So I decided to make a holiday. Also, one of my Twitter mutuals has a terribly sad, yet somehow emotionally gratifying backstory for the poor knight, which was the catalyst for him not liking birthdays, or at least his own birthday. I want to give him a tragic backstory too, but I like him too much, poor thing.

At least I still have nearly a full year to decide on how deep I want it to go. (laughs). Hope you enjoyed!


	4. Spring Festival

"Espella, I cannot go out looking like this!" What was she thinking, to allow Espella to dress her? A veritable stranger stared back at her from the looking glass, blushing heavily. _I can't go out in public this way!_ She repeatedly wailed internally, unable to look away from the train wreck that was her outfit.

"What do you mean? Espella laughed, looping a leather belt around her thin waist and cinching the loose fabric of the new dress. It hung rather like her normal dress, only it was made of a fine red cloth that draped in elegant folds along her frame and hung from her elbows. Her hair was loose, the wavy locks spread across her shoulders except for two thin braids crowning her head and pinned neatly at each temple. Red Eldwitch blossoms, their wiry stems pressed into the plaits, formed a floral diadem. She looked like a goddess, even without the translucent powder she'd dusted over her cheeks.

"M-My shoulders are _bared_!" Not to mention the fact that the hem cut neatly beneath her collarbone and showed far too much cleavage, or that her shoulder blades were on display, or that the navy pleats of the dress cut above her knees and let anyone glimpse a hint of her thigh whenever she moved! It was cut in the middle by a band of white fabric that pressed tightly against her, making her curves seem curvier and her stomach even flatter than it already was. She wanted to leave her hair down if she was forced—by politeness' sake, if nothing else—to wear such a dress, but Espella had plaited it into a loose braid, tied with a white ribbon. To make matters _worse_ , she'd stuck a circlet of fern leaves and pale rosebuds on her head to hold back her bangs, two white water lilies tucked behind her right ear. And somehow Espella had managed to force some dark lipstick onto her, as nothing would do but that she have some sort of makeup.

It would have looked fine on someone else, but the longer she stared at her reflection the more she was _absolutely_ _certain_ that she couldn't go out dressed this way.

Especially not to something as significant as the Spring Festival, where the whole town would be there to gawk at her knobby knees and pale shoulders, made even paler by the dark blue of the fabric. And this year, the festival had become somewhat of a tourist attraction. This meant that strangers would be swarming the grounds, taking in the sights of a 'real medieval festival' and seeing her in all her… glory.

In the past, it was the whim of the Storyteller to announce the Spring Festival and write it into that year's Story. But Eve knew that he'd just waited on the weather forecast, since the Festival was one of the few moveable holidays in Labyrinthia. It was always on the first warm, sunny weekend in town, and this year it fell in mid-April, well after everything was fully bloomed and beautiful. The whole town had been preparing all week for the festival, tuning instruments and decorating the Square. While she'd been just as excited as everyone else for the sunny picnics, music, and laughter of the crowds, now she wanted nothing more than to stay and hide beneath her Great Witch mask in the safety of her own bedroom.

"So?" Espella asked, seeing nothing wrong with exposed blades. "You look beautiful, Eve. Trust me. No one's going to think anything less."

"I look silly," Eve snapped, trying to both tug down the hem at her legs and shove it back up at her breast. Neither worked, as the tight band around her middle kept the fabric from moving up or down her body. "No one dresses like this. All this flimsy cloth and… and why do _I_ have to wear these flowers?"

" _All_ the girls dress like this. Kira's made more profit for her boss this week alone than she has all last summer; she told me so herself." Eve fidgeted in place, fingers dancing at her collarbone. It was true that many people wore flowers at the Spring Festival, either in their hair or on their clothes in some way. She hadn't, as she'd always opted for her best High Inquisitor uniform while she stood in a place of honor with the Storyteller. Last year she'd had a cold and had missed the festival, so this was her first year going not as High Inquisitor Darklaw, but instead as Eve Belduke. Plain, awkward Eve, who spoke without thinking and was overly dramatic at the worst of times. Who worked herself to death in the Courthouse offices. Who was too shy to go in front of a crowd without being dressed in an old lawyer outfit.

Who couldn't bear to be laughed at for trying to fit in with the others.

" _I_ don't," she muttered, knowing that Espella wouldn't listen. She was her best friend, but she was also stubborn and just a little bossy at times. Eve knew, deep down, that Espella was trying to get her to join the rest of the townsfolk and partake in the happy times she'd only recently been privy to herself. But it had been over two years, and she had already decided that if it was meant to happen, it would have already happened.

"There's no reason you can't try." Espella's hands rested lightly on her shoulders and she shivered at the contact, not used to that place being a skin-to-skin location. "Eve, don't you think that you're nervous only because you've never been a participant in the festival before?" It was true, she was the Storyteller's guard, not an active patron in the festivities. "It'll be okay. I'll be by your side every minute if you want me to. And besides, you've got a boyfriend to dress up for now."

"I-I do?" Espella blinked before throwing her hands in the air.

"Sir Barnham?!" she offered, shaking her head. "You're his sweetheart, aren't you?"

"Am I?" Espella shook her head with a sound of disappointment. "I mean, I suppose that I am, but we've only went out once or twice…."

"And?" Eve felt everything from her ears to her toes burning with shame.

"And… isn't that too early to call someone your… boyfriend?"

"Eve Belduke, you're so—" her mouth worked as she thought for the right word, " _modest_!" She wrapped her arms around her from behind, resting her chin on her shoulder. "Can I tell you something?"

"Yes?"

"I think, now that you're his _girlfriend_ ," she emphasized," that I can tell you what he told me with a clear conscience. I couldn't tell you in the bell tower before his birthday because I didn't know if that would be the right thing to do, but I can tell you now."

"W-what?"

"Sir Barnham told me that he thought you were the most beautiful woman in all of town."

"H-he did?!" Her face was the same color as Espella's flowers, but the younger woman didn't seem to notice. _Even back then, he said that? About me?_ He'd admitted himself that he'd only used the New Year as an excuse to kiss her, but she wouldn't have guessed that he'd compliment her to anyone.

"He really did. He had come up to ask me if you had your eye on anyone in town. ""To tell truth, I think that Miss Eve is the most comely woman I've ever seen; certainly she's the most elegant and attractive woman in all of Labyrinthia." That's exactly what he said when I asked him why he wanted to know."

"B-but why would he—"

"Ask me?" she interrupted. "Because I'd know. I knew you liked him, after all. But I didn't tell him that; I thought it would be just as bad as telling you that he liked you. I decided that I wouldn't step in unless you were both miserable about it; I really thought you'd figure it out after he gave you your birthday present." She blushed as well. "I didn't know you didn't see his true motives right then, or I'd have said something to you later. I just thought you were playing coy."

"I'd never!"

"You should!" Eve winced as Espella's voice rang in her ear. "Kira says that—"

"You listen far too much to what Kira has to say. She tried to have you killed, you know."

"That was then, this is now. And Kira says that men like it when you flirt with them in that manner. She's had four beaus, you know."

"If she's had four, that must mean she either can't keep them or is picking the wrong sort of men." Espella blinked in surprise.

"Well, I suppose you don't need to reel him in anyway," she stated after a moment's thought. "You've already _got_ him. And he's not wrong; you really are elegant and attractive, and now everyone can see it in that dress," she declared with a nod. "So let's go show him how lucky he really is!"

"Espella… it's wrong to think that way."

* * *

As they walked through the archway into the Square Espella grabbed her arm and gasped, her eyes twinkling as she gaped in every direction. Eve, too, was rather surprised at the apparent gusto that went into this year's décor. The Square had been transformed into a sort of botanical garden, with large displays of every flower imaginable. Roses, chrysanthemums, buttercups, lilies, violets, peonies: all and more had their turn at some point around the grassy common. Garlands adorned the rails around the bell tower's balconies, makeshift window boxes on the surrounding walls spilled with ivy and bloom, the cobblestones were scattered with thousands of petals borne by the soft breeze whispering from the ocean.

The hastily erected wooden platform, where the Storyteller had always sat in Festivals past, was covered with fresh bouquets that climbed the torch poles and made the platform look more like a parade float. The Storyteller wasn't there, but he would give the speech from there in the evening. Before it, bands played familiar tunes as people passed by, dropping coins into their outstretched hats and tambourines. Minstrels swung from crowd to crowd, making up rhymes that caused laughter and groaning alike. Butterflies and bees alit from display to display, fluttering and buzzing as ladybugs crawled up the sides of the white-peaked tents where food and drink was being served. Far above it all, birds whistled and chirped to each other in the eves of the tower, hopping along the railing to pick at insects in the petals.

"Come on, Eve! Let's go!" Espella urged, nearly dragging her out of her sandals as they sped over the cobblestones. Eve's palm sweated as she felt the sun on her bare shoulders, the breeze brushing her unclothed knees, her lips strange with the unfamiliar weight of lipstick and the flower petals tickling her ear. She wasn't sure what she would do once they actually began mingling. What if they all stared? What if they began _whispering_? It was only Espella's tight grip on her hand that kept her from turning tail and going straight back home, no matter how florally bedecked she saw the others around her.

Townsfolk grouped together, laughing among friends and gesticulating as they spoke, their eyes squinting against the bright sunshine. Children ran between the groups with boundless energy, laughing and squealing as they played simple games and tore flowers from the displays for their dolls' hair. Amidst them all were the tourists, snapping pictures, ooh-aahing at the displays, purchasing blossoms from the money-conscious flower seller and his cronies, or being served from beneath the white tents whilst trying to juggle the cameras and kids and flowers in their possession.

"E-Espella!" After nearly tripping twice, she finally shook her hand free and stood of her own volition, breathing heavily as she brushed loose hair behind her ear and back into the braid. "Slow down, we have all day!"

"Don't drag her over country and kingdom, Espella." They looked up to see the girl's father approaching them, hand raised in welcome. He was dressed casually, the sleeves of his white dressed shirt rolled to his elbows. "I'd ask what took the two of you so long to show up, but I can see for myself that it was time well spent," he said approvingly as he looked over their outfits. "You two rival the flowers in beauty, I believe."

"Oh, Dad," Espella scoffed, the powder only allowing her cheeks to glow the faintest pink. She took a flower from her crown and pushed it into the buttonhole of his shirt, smoothing the red petals. "There. You have to look a little festive as well, you know."

"If you say so," he hummed good-naturedly, patting the flower to make sure it would stay put. "We certainly have a good turnout this year; I'd hate to make a mockery of myself by not looking the part of the town's founder." He looked Eve over as well, his expression falling until he looked more like the tired old man he was.

"W-what?" she asked, trying once more to adjust the hem. Did he not approve of her outfit for some reason? She glanced around, noticing some of the tourists looking at them with interest. _This is idiotic, I might as well have made a complete fool of myself with the way everyone's staring._ They might have been looking at the Storyteller or Espella as well as her, but she felt as if their eyes bored straight into her with judgmental contempt. She wrapped her arms around herself, forcing herself to pay attention to him as he spoke.

"It's just… I wish that Newton could see you now. He was always so proud of you, saying how lovely you were. If only he could be here now, when he could have shared that pride with the town instead of having to hide it," he said with a sad chuckle. "If I had only known," he added, for what felt like the thousandth time, though Eve knew the words hurt him as much as when he'd said them aloud the first. "If I'd only known, and been able to get him the help he needed before it was too late." Espella frowned, her shoulders hunched as she wrapped an arm around her father's waist, resting her head against his shoulder comfortingly.

"D-don't." Eve took a deep breath. "Father wouldn't want you—us—to be sad. Not on such a happy occasion." She felt a pang of grief and took a breath, allowing herself to feel it and accept it instead of pushing it aside. "He'd say that the Spring Festival is a time to celebrate beginnings, instead of ends."

"You're right," Mr. Cantabella admitted. "As you always are. Newton would say that I was being a sentimental old fool when I should be enjoying this day." They were all silent a moment, making the squelch from the man's stomach sound all the louder.

"Dad!" Espella laughed, pulling away. "Are you hungry?"

"Well, I suppose I _am_ a bit peckish, even for midmorning."

"Then let's go get something to eat! I haven't had breakfast yet, either." She turned to Eve, "Do you want to come with us?" She was about to agree, if only for the company rather than actually wanting something to eat, when she saw Barnham weaving his way across the common. He scanned the crowds, his brow wrinkled until he spotted Espella sticking out like a sore thumb with her red clothes. He smiled amicably at her, his hand coming up in a wave of greeting as his eyes passed over the Storyteller and then settled on Eve. Espella and her father grinned as his expression faltered into one of shock, glancing at each other and speaking silently through their eyes.

"We'll leave you two to chat," Mr. Cantabella said with a nod, grabbing Espella's hand. "I'm sure we'll all meet up later."

"See you, Eve!" Espella called over her shoulder as she allowed her father to half-carry, half-drag her along.

"E-Espella!" Abandoned, stuck to the cobblestone like a stubborn stain by her nervousness, she watched her best friend's wicked smile get lost behind the multitudes swarming around a display of evergreen boughs and hyacinths. How dare they just leave her like this! _Perhaps Espella doesn't get all her mischievous mannerisms from Mrs. Eclaire after all._ Color flooded her cheeks as she planned a quick vengeance; it was warm enough that perhaps Espella could slip and take a little fall into the lake when she came to visit next week….

"Mi-M-Mm… Eve?"

"Zacharias." She forced herself to turn back around and face him, clasping her hands behind her back to keep from fidgeting and plastering her 'everything is fine' smile on her lips for good measure. "I-I don't know where they went," she muttered, nodding her head at where the Cantabellas had slipped off. "T-they, um, said something about food…." Suddenly, all topics were gone from her mind and she was left with awkward silence.

"'Tis fine." He shifted, shoving his hands down his pockets anxiously. "You, erm… what a pleasant day this is." He looked up at the sky, focusing intently on nothing but the endless blue.

"A fine day," she agreed hesitantly. At least he was doing a little better than her at making conversation.

"One couldn't pick a better day for a festival." _Trying to do better, and failing_. She bit back a sigh, picking at her cuticles while her hands were still safely out of sight. It was the same as this on the two dates they'd been on, until the topic ultimately turned to either work or their friends. _Why must I be so nervous around him? Furthermore, why must_ _ **he**_ _be so nervous around me? It was never like this when we were hunting witches._ They had chemistry; otherwise she would have never accepted the second date. But could two people have chemistry, and yet nothing to talk about?

"Yes. And the flowers look nice as well."

"Very nice. I heard the flower seller had his employees working overtime." Another pause, and she stared at the hyacinths. If magic were real, she would have opted for a spell that made it impossible to be so awkward around others. "You, erm…" he tried again, his sandal catching at the cobblestones and scuffing the edges as he toed them. "You look… what manner of flowers are those?" he asked suddenly, pointing at her ear.

"W-water lilies."

"Oh. Yes, of course." He cleared his throat. "D-do you _like_ water lilies?"

"They're… actually my favorite flower." She fingered the petals of the outermost one. "But Espella was the one to suggest that I wear them in my hair. I don't normally—I didn't want to—what are your favorite flowers?" She instantly cringed. _Why would you ask a man what his favorite flower was? He probably never even notices them, he—_

"Gladioli."

"Excuse me?" He looked briefly at her, then away.

"Gladioli," he repeated. "When I was young, I read that the gladiolus represents strength and moral integrity. Because they're shaped like swords, in a way." His hands made a vague shape in the air. "And also… infatuation," he added in a low tone.

"Infatuation?" He nodded.

"You give them to the one who has pierced your heart with passion." He blushed. "If I were to propose to someone, I'd give them gladioli instead of roses… I think 'twould make my intention all the clearer."

"What do water lilies mean?" He looked at her in surprise.

"I-I don't know." His cheeks darkened further as his eyes darted to her ear once more. "The only reason I knew that was because I was trying to find out what sort of flowers you gave someone to make them well after an illness." Again he looked away, scratching his head. "Chrysanthemums…. A-anyway, the librarian lent me a book on flowers and their meanings. I don't remember much of it, I'm afraid."

"Did they work?"

"I'm sorry?"

"The chrysanthemums. Did they work?"

"Oh." The smile slipped from his face. "I couldn't actually afford any—I was very young—so I traced the picture from the book onto some paper and brought that instead. I suppose… I suppose it only works if one has real flowers."

"O-oh." She felt a sinking sensation in her stomach and reached out without thinking, putting a hand on his forearm. A part of her wished she was as easygoing as Espella, and could have embraced him with her head on his shoulder in the middle of the crowd. He looked at her hand, placing his own over it; it surrounded hers, warm and roughened with years of work. He laughed gruffly, the sound harsh.

"It sounds stupid, don't you think?" His jaw tightened. "Bringing some foolish drawing into a hospital with the thought that it would help more than medicaments."

"I think it sounds sweet." She stepped closer, allowing her fingers to caress his arm. "It seems as though it was a thoughtful idea, no matter how it had to be carried out."

"Hmm. Well." He cleared his throat again, this time actually needing to instead of doing it to break a silence. "What I meant to say earlier was... that you look… that they suit you. The flowers." His hand left hers and moved carefully to the lilies, securing them behind her ear before stroking the hair at her temple, his eyes watching her face for any sign of discomfort. "No matter their meaning."

"Thank you." She leaned into the touch, a shiver working down her spine. "I-I'm glad you like them."

" _Ooh_ , Zacky-wacky's got 'imself a lady friend!" The warmth in his face abruptly left, replaced by something she could only describe as exasperation, though it seemed to run far deeper than the word implied.

"Get me a chair, someone! I'm _floored_!"

"Just who is Zacky-boy's little turtledove, hmm?" Despite being singled out, she felt less mortified than she thought she would be. Perhaps it was because the mockery was pointed directly at him, rather than her? She looked around his chest to see a few familiar faces from the seedy alleys surrounding the black market. The kind that turned tail the minute they saw the High Inquisitor coming, rather than face an evening the dungeons. She knew them to frequent the tavern as well, though they were always more afraid of Rouge than they ever were of her. Still….

"Me," she retorted, in her best Darklaw tone. The laughter dried up faster than she imagined, their faces going from open jeering to surprise to fear in the span of a blink.

"M-Milady!" One of them, Briggs or Muggs—they were always together, but she could never remember which was which—paled and shuffled behind the others. Clearly _he_ still remembered the Shade pecking order. She singled him out, stepping around Barnham and tilting her head back enough to peer down her nose at him.

"Is there a problem here?" she asked, eyeing them all and making them squirm in their boots.

"N-no."

"No ma'am."

"N-not at all, milady." She glared, pointing one finger menacingly at a gap in the crowd.

"Leave." They were gone before her hand fell back to her side. "Honestly," she huffed in another tone altogether, rubbing her forehead. "The sort of people you hang out with. Aren't they regulars at the tavern?" She turned to see him fighting back laughter, shoulders shaking with the exertion. "What?"

"Their faces!" he finally exclaimed, laughing heartily. "When you said—and then—" He couldn't speak for a moment, wiping his eyes and trying to get under control. "Eve, you're amazing." The compliment took her by surprise.

"Thank you… Zacky."

"Don't call me that," he ordered, mouth twisting. "'Tis… unbecoming."

"Sir Baker?"

"Even worse!" She grinned.

"Sir _Apprentice_ Baker."

"You wish for my ridicule?!"

"Naturally, Bouncing—" He stopped her before she could finish, his thumb running across her lips and keeping them closed. It was more surprise than anything else that had her silent, the sensation not at all unpleasant. He took it as an invitation to speak.

"You may call me as you like," he murmured, leaning in, "but not in the midst of the street." She waited until he moved his hand before answering.

"For your sake, I'll save it. I'd hate to give those fools more fodder against you." He laughed, letting it trail off naturally as he looked down at her. The warmth crept back into his eyes and she allowed herself to bask in it, just for the moment. It wouldn't do to allow him more sway over than he already had.

"It's nice to—even though I know you're just teasing me, it's nice to be able to laugh with you." The moment he said it, she realized that he was right. They didn't often say things that ended up in laughter. Normally it was more serious working conversations, or quieter moments. It _was_ nice to be able to let go a little. His fingers brushed against her hair once more, pushing it and baring her shoulder. She couldn't bring herself to stop him, tongue whetting her lips as she felt the prickling heat left behind by his slow advances. "Eve, I—"

"Sir Barnham!" He sighed, his eyes turning towards the heavens before rolling towards the silver-clad figure.

" _Ye-es_?" he drawled, voice tight. "Good morrow, captain."

"Pardon the intrusion," the Captain replied, saluting before rubbing his broad nose. "But there's a man here to see you."

"He can wait." He turned back to Eve, his hand still hovering above her shoulder. She stepped back politely, feeling the captain of the guard eyeing her. What was happening to her? Just moments before, it had felt as if it were just the two of them alone in the Square, despite the bodies pressing around them. Anyone could have seen whatever she'd allowed him to do, had they not been interrupted. She was torn between the relief that they _had_ been broken up, and the curiosity of how far he might have gotten with her otherwise.

"But Sir, he spoke to the Storyteller, who sent a small platoon to search for you. I think 'tis important." This made them both turn.

"I have no prior engagement," he said sharply, a hint of confusion lacing the words. "Who is he? Did he state his business?"

"Not of Labyrinthian origin, I think. He's dressed as an outsider. As I said, he spoke to the Storyteller and he considered it of grave importance that you be found. I know no more than this."

"I—thank you. I'll see to it." He dismissed the captain with a practiced wave of his hand. "Who on earth might it be?" he asked her once he had gone.

"I'm not sure. I can only think that it may be someone from Labrellum, but why would he need to see you specifically?" Eve thought it over, her brain offering no answers. "Of course, it's probably nothing," she assured him. "Maybe Mr. Cantabella knows him personally and promised to let him see you. It might be a fan of yours."

"There's only one way to find out." He grabbed her hand, leading her in the same manner as Espella, but less forcefully. "Let's go see." After a moment, he let her go and turned sheepishly. "Unless, that is, you have someone else to—I shouldn't take up all of your time today," he admitted. "Even if…."

"Let's go," she insisted, offering her hand voluntarily. He took it lightly, glancing around furtively before yanking her towards him. She gasped as he caught her, lips brushing her cheek. She stumbled back, pushing him away instinctively and finding that she couldn't go far with his iron grip around her fingers.

"Forgive me, but luck has forced me to be quick," he muttered in her ear. "I won't be thwarted thrice in the span of a single morning." She put as much space between them as possible, trying to appear scolding.

"You could have simply _asked_ me, you know."

"I could, but 'tis more fun to catch you unawares." He changed his grasp, linking his fingers through hers. "You blush and I find it… cute."

"I am not cute!" she sputtered, nearly falling as he turned and led her through the Square once more.

* * *

They found the Storyteller with Espella and Mrs. Eclaire, standing near the water fountain and eating. It was easy to pick out the stranger amongst them, dressed in a formal black business suit and staring with impatience at his watch. His dark hair was slicked back, the faintest lines around his eyes visible by the magnification of his oval spectacles. When he saw them approaching, the Storyteller gave Espella his plate and wiped his hands on his kerchief, stuffing it back in his pocket before raising a hand and addressing them.

"I'm glad you found us, Zacharias. There's someone here who needs to speak with you." He looked at the man. "This is Mr. Hastings of—"

"Excuse me, but I'll introduce myself." The man stepped forward and offered a hand. Barnham let go of her long enough to shake it, the same hand finding purchase on the small of her back. She felt the heat through the band of ribbon around her middle and pressed into it, finding a strange comfort in its placement. "I am Mr. Robert Hastings of Smith, Hastings, & Williamson. We are a law firm in South London that handles a variety of cases. My card." He dug in his breast pocket and produced a business card, which Barnham took with his other hand and stared at blankly. Eve took it from him and eyed the professionally glossed letters on the card, wracking her mind for any familiarity. She couldn't remember any law firm by that name handling Labrellum affairs…. The man looked at Eve during the pause, decided something, and looked away.

"I do hate to work during the weekends, but I've traveled a long way to get here and I nearly missed the boat leaving the mainland. I've got no choice but to catch a connecting one; shall we move to an office or… private space?" he asked, looking around at the crowds.

"You can use the Audience Room, if you like." Barnham's hand pressed more firmly into her back and she fought the urge to look at him.

"No, 'tis fine. If you're in a hurry, you can tell me here." He nodded to the man. "I'd hate for you to miss your boat."

"A-are you sure?" The lawyer's brow scrunched. "It seems very… open."

"'Tis fine," he repeated. "What business do you have with me, Sir— _Mr._ Hastings?" His eyes moved between him and the Storyteller, who looked about as puzzled as the rest of them. Espella scooted closer to the baker, pretending to engage her in conversation to keep from being seen as eavesdroppers.

"Well, if you're entirely certain." He turned to the low wall behind him, which ran abreast of the fountain and helped to section the alleyway from the Square. There, he had a small briefcase, which he opened. Rustling the papers, he found what he wanted and pulled out a stapled booklet of sheets. He read them over with pursed lips and then sighed.

"I don't even know what surname to use, but since you've legally changed yours I suppose it doesn't matter." He looked back at them, pushing the oval lenses up his nose. It was shiny with grease, and she wondered if the suit was hot on him. "It is my sad duty to inform you of the passing of one Mr. Edward of Candlewood Place, London." _Mr. Edward?_ She had no idea what that meant, but she felt his fingers dig painfully into her back and bit her tongue to keep from crying out. "Known colloquially as 'Norfolk Eddie', along with a slew of various aliases and surnames that span…" he looked, "two pages, front and back." A brow arched, but he shook his head. "My, my."

"Passing?" Eve asked, guessing his meaning. "As in his death."

"Precisely, ma'am. I am the probate lawyer for his case." She looked up at Barnham, intending to ask if he knew this Edward, but the words flew from her mind as she saw his jaw tensed, eyes blazing with an emotion she'd never seen from him before.

"How did you find me here." He swallowed hard, his voice restrained. "Who told you I was here." They sounded far more accusing than mere questions, and the lawyer stiffened with unease, his eyes flitting to the Storyteller and back.

"It wasn't easy," he admitted, shifting and adjusting his cuff over his wristwatch. "It took me nearly two weeks to track down your last place of residency. The landlord told me your debt was paid off by a Labrellum Inc. I had to issue a warrant to gain access to your file, and even then I had no way of knowing if you were still here now that their experimental phase was finished." He sniffed. "I took a chance anyway, with the hopes that someone would know where you'd gone, if you weren't to be found."

"That was a lot of trouble to track me down." Eve was startled as his stance changed, shoulders rising and eyes narrowing. "What, did he owe you money?" he guessed callously. "If so, you may as well return home; you'll get nothing from me."

"No, no. What little he had in the bank covered his… _legal_ debts," the lawyer admitted, pulling a kerchief from his pocket and mopping his brow. "Though I've had to explain to a few localized individuals that any under-the-table dealings aren't covered by liability."

"Then _what_?" He shrugged his shoulders. "If you just came to tell me, you could have sent a letter. I'd written him off as dead years ago."

"No, you don't understand." Mr. Hastings flipped through the pages. "According to the hospital where he passed, you were declared lasting power of attorney while he was still alive. Now that he's deceased, of course, you are the sole charge of his possessions. I'm afraid there's nothing in cash form, but there are still the belongings inside the flat and—"

"I don't want them," he interrupted. "Now go away."

"E-excuse me?"

"Zacharias," the Storyteller admonished gently.

"I. Don't. _Want_. Them." His hand fisted at her back. "I don't want anything to do with it."

"Norfo—Mr. Edward died intestate: that is, without a will. However, thanks to the newer law system," here he made a face, as though disapproving of said system, "you _are_ the sole charge. That is what the officials decided when devising England's intestate clauses. I have no control over it."

"And?"

" _And_ thanks to these laws, our firm has already filed a Declaration of Small Estate for you. It's clear on first glance that his assets are far less than £100,000. His parents are gone, as well as his listed wife. You are all that's left, I'm afraid, which means we hold you legally responsible."

"I haven't—"

"You weren't disinherited," Mr. Hastings cut in impatiently. "This means you are all that's left. Whether you like or not, Mr. Barnham, this inheritance is _yours_." _Disinherited… that means they're talking about his—_ Eve looked from the lawyer to him again, startled at the redness rising to his cheeks. She could sense the explosion brewing beneath his skin; she'd been on the receiving end of it often enough to know that his temper had a breaking point, and he was very close to reaching it.

"I said I want _nothing to do with it_ ," he growled. Mr. Hastings shook his head.

"But as his son, don't you think you owe it—"

" _I am_ _ **not**_ _his son!_ " Eve winced as the words rang in her ear, knowing that she ought to have moved before the inevitable. The conversations around them ceased, all eyes turning towards the unfolding scene. " _Burn_ the shit for all I care! Burn him too, while you're at it! Drop it all in the sewer and forget about a proper burial; the bastard doesn't deserve one!"

"I say!" Backed against the wall by his roaring, the lawyer peered at him over his lenses. "This is your father we're speaking of!"

"He was _never_ my father." He face rivaled his hair in color, his chest heaving. "I am _not his son_." Espella was staring at him with wide eyes, her mouth agape. Mrs. Eclaire had both hands clasped to her chest, gnawing at her lower lip with worry as she looked between the two of them.

"No matter what you think otherwise, biologically you are his child. In a legal standing, that's all that matters. You _have_ to come back to London and step foot in that flat."

"Zacharias!" Espella's father tried again, his hands held out pleadingly.

"I don't _care_ what the law says! I'm not going back; I'm never going back!" he shouted, his expression panicked. "That place is not mine, could never be mine. Labyrinthia is my home now. I can't go back… you can't make me go back!"

"We can! I can have you arrested for contempt to follow law. Labyrinthia is still a part of the UK, whether you like it or not!" Mr. Hastings drew himself up to his unimpressive full height. "If I must go get the police, I shall. But it will be far easier for you to come quietly."

"You can't make me leave!" He turned to the Storyteller. "Tell him! Tell him that he can't make me go back there!"

"I—"

"You made a promise! You made a promise to me; _I remember it_!" Eve stepped away, floored by the extent of the anger flooding from him, especially with it directed towards the man he still looked to as a sort of lord.

"Zacharias, you must understand—" He shook his head, pushing his hands as if he could physically keep the words away.

"I remember it, I remember everything!" He fought for breath, the hand that had been on her back now creeping towards his chest. She looked closely him, her heart skipping as she recognized the look on his face. This anger, it was the same as the screaming rage that came from accused witches on the stands time and time again. An emotion born of panic as well as the feeling that one was cornered with the army closing in fast and no way to escape. _He's frightened!_ She realized with a start. _He's so frightened...what's wrong?_

"I've read over those signed documents," Mr. Hastings declared. "They're only valid as long as the experiment is in progress. It has been ceased for over two years, has it not?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then I have full authority to bring in outside forces if I must." The lawyer turned back. "I hate to do that, but if you don't cooperate, you'll force my hand."

"You promised me that he wouldn't be able to _find_ me here, that if I signed those papers I could leave all of it _behind_. And now you're _going back_ on that?!" His fist swung out and slammed into the wall, causing a window box to slip from its nail. The flowers cascaded into the fountain, the sound of the twisting box against stone grating against her ears. Espella dropped both plates with a squeak of alarm, leaping to her feet. Eve didn't blame her; the sound of his flesh hitting the brick had been frightful.

"With a temper like that, there's no doubting your parentage!" the lawyer snapped. "If the landlord of Candlewood is to be believed, that is." Barnham's full body gave a solid jerk as his hand fell, bruises already starting to discolor his knuckles. A chorus of whispers came from the ring of onlookers that had formed around them at some point, Labyrinthians staring in concern while tourists leaned away warily. As if seeing them for the first time, he stared around wide-eyed; his body began to shake as he paled, still fighting for air.

"Sir Barnham!" Espella called out to him. He looked as if he were going to faint away at any moment, a green tinge replacing the red in his face. _Is he going to get sick?_ Eve took a step forward and he stumbled away from her. The crowd parted, mothers dragging their children out of the way. Rouge fought her way to the front, shoving aside Muffet as the teensy woman cowered beneath her parasol, her handkerchief pressed to her cheek.

"I—I can't—"

"Zacharias?" She stretched out her hand, palm up, silently pleading for him to come to her. His mouth quivered and he looked past her to the crowd, then at the lawyer.

"I—excuse me," he croaked, tugging at the collar of his shirt as he backed through the opening, looking more and more helpless as the people continued to avoid him, letting him through. He turned and ran, falling into the side of a display and knocking it over. He caught himself, regained his balance, and left the Square.

"Zacharias!" She ran a few steps before turning back. She felt Darklaw clawing savagely out of her breast and giving way to it entirely. How could he be so uncaring, to keep adding fuel to a fire like that?! Did he not see how much his words were upsetting him? A protective feeling rose within her, something that she couldn't quite explain and yet it felt almost _too_ natural. "How dare you!" she hissed, seeing eye to eye with the lawyer and yet somehow looming over him. "Who are you to speak to him that way?"

"Eve," the Storyteller murmured warningly, but went silent as she turned on him as well.

"And you! How could you not stand up for him? How could you just stand by and let him _do_ that to him?"

"Eve, you must understand." He reached for her. "The law is the law; there's nothing I can do about it. Please try to see where I'm coming from." She backed out of his reach, feeling Barnham's hurt as if it were her own, gnawing through her heart and settling in her churning stomach. It was just that she knew what it felt like, to be unheard, to have your opinions ignored and to be forced to do things that you didn't want to, to remember things that you had pushed back until they were so flimsy and transparent that they might have only been dreams. To be in such pain that the only relief was to run away from it. And to make it worse, one of the men to cause her such pain had just done the same to him.

"Eve—" She shook her head, ducking beneath his arm and evading his grasp as she followed Barnham's path out of the Square. "Eve!" he called after, and she heard Espella calling her name as well. She forced the sound from her mind, listening only to the pounding of her heels against the cobblestones as she rounded the corner.

 _I have to find him._ No one had ever come for her, every time she'd run off and ignored the truth. But she'd find him. Even if he spurned her, turned her away and refused to talk, at least he would know that _someone_ came after him.

She slid to a stop at the first intersection, looking in every direction for a sign of which way he'd turned. All the streets were abandoned, the only movement a loose flyer fluttering against the wall. _If I were Zacharias, where would I go?_ The answer came and she turned right, heading for the road to the garrison. It was as good a place to start as any, if he happened to not be there.

It seemed to take twice as long to reach the other side of town, even if she ran the whole way. There was a stitch in her side but she didn't dare stop for breath, afraid that someone might catch her and stop her before she could reach him. She was certain that no one _was_ following, but the fear was still there. She'd hate to have to fight them off of her.

The garrison gate was closed, and she caught her breath as she stared down at the moat. She could get across it, but the walls were thick and there wasn't anything she could do to lower the gate from the outside. She could call to him, but even if he heard her there was no guarantee he'd lower it for her. She was nearly certain that he _was_ in there; they stopped closing the gates when the knights stopped living there. Unless it was closed to keep out the tourists… not that there were any on this side of town. She wracked her brain, tapping her knuckles against her skull as she thought. _I've got to get in there, I've just_ _ **got**_ _to!_ Then she remembered the case of a girl being caught in the oak that grew next to the garrison, her skirts the only thing keeping her from falling to the ground and breaking her head open. Of course!

She snuck around to the tree, looking it over as she tore off her sandals and felt the grass under her bare feet. People had been climbing it for as long as she'd been the High Inquisitor, perhaps even longer. Its branches extended over the wall, making it an opportune spot for young men to sneak out… or young ladies to sneak in. It was one of the things the town leaders turned a blind eye towards, the same as staying out all night on the Bonfire Festival or secret trysts in the countryside barns. _Just kids having fun_ , everyone said. _They'll always do it, no sense in stopping them. It's not like we didn't do the same things at that age…._

She found a good purchase and swung herself up into the tree. Her skirts slid past her thighs and she gave a prayer of gratitude that no one was around to see as she shimmied up the tree. Getting onto the heaviest branch to cross the wall was a bit tricky, and she could see how the girl had slipped and fallen. Just looking down had her clutching the trunk for dear life, but she took a deep breath and reached up to find a handhold on the branches above her. The gnarled branches cut into her arches and thorny bits of twig poked at her hands, but she took a deep breath and began to make the crossing. She paused whenever she felt her balance slipping or the branch bending too far beneath her weight, hoping that it would at least hold out until she was over the moat before breaking.

It didn't break, however, and after an agonizing eternity she found a place on the wall that was free of fallen leaves, where many pairs of bare feet and shoes had alighted before and after the same harrowing journey. She let her pounding heart still, adjusting the skirts back around her legs as she looked down from her new place of safety at the sudden drop. _You'd have to really love someone to do this._

 _W-wait, I don't… love him,_ she thought immediately afterwards. She scowled, rubbing a hand across her hair and upsetting the fern circlet. She ignored it, still angry for even thinking such a thing. _I meant often. You'd have to really love someone to do this_ _ **often**_ _._ Love was a big word, too scary to think about after only two dates and several clumsy kisses. _Not that they were bad._ She shook the thoughts from her head, looking around at the ground on the other side of the wall to see where she was.

It took only a moment to realize why this was a good spot to sneak over. It was behind the stables, out of sight from the main walk of the garrison. The walls were high, and while a proper fall from them wouldn't be life threatening or even causing major injury, the jump would be easily broken if she could propel herself forward enough to land in the horse's hay supply, which had been piled up between the wall and the back of the stable. She eyed the jump, swinging her arms before changing her plan and turning. She found a good handhold and propelled herself down the wall, extending her legs as far as she could with her feet still flat against the stone. For a moment she hung precariously, her arms straining with the effort, and then she used the wall to push herself backwards after taking another good look over her shoulder. The hay cushioned her and she fell deep within one of the piles, breaking it up as she pushed her way out of the hillock and tumbled down the side of the sweet-smelling stuff. She brushed the stiff strands from her dress and hair, shaking out her braid before kicking as much hay back into the pile as she could.

 _Well, I'm over it._ Now to find him. She started in the stable, peering through the open door to see several horses peering back. One nickered softly, their bodies moving at the sight of the stranger, but no human stood or sat in the shadowy darkness. She turned away and walked around the side, looking in all the windows: the abandoned barracks, the classroom where they still held mind training exercises, the padded room where they practiced throwing techniques.

She found no one, and began to cross the main yard to the carriage stables when she finally saw him sitting on the stairs to the Audience Room. His arms rested on his legs, his head down as he hunched over. She drew closer, watching him carefully. He didn't seem to hear her, but he was calmer: he only gave the occasional tremble, his hands limp as they hung over his knees, one tanned and one with darkening bruises where he'd busted them against the wall.

"Zacharias." She kept her voice soft, not wanting to startle him. She did anyway, his head jerking up before immediately turning away from her.

"Go away," he commanded hoarsely, trying to subtly wipe his eyes and failing. "Leave me alone." She gave him time to breathe, searching for the words she knew he needed to hear. Even more so, the words she knew she needed to say.

"Zacharias, I know that it's… that it feels so much _easier_ to do it this way. I _know_ ," she insisted, standing before him. "When you're alone, you can just shove all those emotions down until you can't feel them anymore, and you think that you can keep going on with your life." She felt a lump rise to her throat and swallowed, trying to stop her voice from cracking. "But you can't, you just _can't_. If you do that, you forget that you're not really alone. There are people who can help you, who care about you. People like me." She took a step towards him, afraid to lay a hand on him and yet yearning to do so. "And… now that I'm your—" she faltered, "your girlfriend, you have to let me know how I can help. I care about you, and—I _want_ to help, so… please. Allow me to."

"How did you even get in here," he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"The tree, same as everyone else." She took a seat next to him on the step. He shifted away, putting an inch or so of space between them.

"That was too dangerous. You shouldn't have done it."

"I know, but—"

"No buts! You shouldn't have done it!" He glared at her, and she glared back with all the sympathetic force she could muster. The expression fell after a moment and he buried his hands in his hair. "F-forgive me, I—I'm—"

"It's alright." She scooted closer, and this time he didn't move away.

"Maybe I am… just like…" he trailed off, looking at his hands with something akin to fright. _He's like a boy… a little boy afraid of his own shadow_. She felt another surge of protective feeling for him. _If I could just… pack him in a box or something._ Then nothing could get to him without going through her first. She didn't want him this way, as dark and hollow as he'd been the night in the forest, after his birthday party.

 _The day of my birth was never a celebratory occasion before today._

 _There have been many times in my life that I cursed it._

Eve sat and thought it over, trying to unravel the mystery. She could see that somehow, somewhere, this all tied together into the knot that was Zacharias Barnham. But there were still pieces hidden in the dark or missing altogether; try as she might, she couldn't see the larger picture.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." She paused. Maybe he did mean for her to go away. At least she tried, and she could wait outside the garrison until he emerged.

"Would you like me to go?" He said nothing, but when she moved to stand he grabbed her wrist with his injured hand, wincing.

"No, please… stay." She sat back down, allowing the quiet to grow. Sometimes, presence was enough. "T…" he stopped.

"What is it? You can tell me."

"They all were afraid of me. Everyone in town was… is…." He buried his face in his hands.

"They weren't afraid," she insisted, leaning her leg against his. "They're just worried about you. Espella, Mrs. Eclaire… _I_ was worried about you."

"You shouldn't be. I'm not… don't waste your time worrying about someone like me." He rubbed at a frayed spot on his jeans. "I'm always fine."

"Are you?"

"Mmn… a knight has only to serve and protect. Personal feelings get in the way and cloud judgment. That's why there's no place for them on the battlefield. And this… this is my battlefield. So I will feel no emotion. I will be fine."

"Zacharias… it's not wrong to be angry or—or scared—"

"I'm not scared!" The look in his eyes told a different story. "I'm _not_!" he snarled, and she could almost see him bristling the same way Constantine did when the pup got defensive.

"Well I am." His eyes widened, the panic flooding back in.

"Don't be frightened of me, Eve!" he pleaded. She was taken aback; she hadn't meant that he frightened her, only that she was frightened for him. He'd misconstrued it.

"That's not—"

"Eve, please—I'd never hurt you, I couldn't, I wouldn't." He began to breathe faster, leaning over her. "Don't be frightened of me; you don't hurt the people you care about, and I-I care about you more than myself, more t-than anyone else in town. I'd rather die than see you harmed, believe me, I—" he stammered uncontrollably, and she found herself clapping her hand over his mouth so that she could get a word in edgewise.

"I didn't mean that I'm scared of you. I'm scared _for_ you. I'm scared that—that you'll push yourself too far and hurt yourself… not me." She took her hand from his mouth, fingers brushing against his lips. Here, with just the two of them, she pressed even closer to him, winding her arm around his back and pressing her hand between his shoulder blades, feeling the tense muscles there. She rested her head against his shoulder, letting the warmth seep through his shirt and into her cheek. He let out a shuddering breath, wrapping his arms around her and drawing her flush to his chest, his face buried in the crook of her neck.

"Eve…" he moaned against her skin. It was a lonely sound, and she rubbed his back as she rested her chin on his shoulder and wound her other arm around his neck.

"It'll be alright," she promised, saying the words she'd wished someone had told her back when her father had first died, when she was at her most miserable. His body quaked beneath her touch, pressing his full weight down onto her. "It's fine. It'll be fine."

"I can't… I _can't_ —"

"You can. It'll be okay." She felt Espella's words bubble up within her, as if the girl was speaking through her somehow. "I'll be by your side every minute if you want me to." She squeezed him tighter. "I have faith in you."

"You don't understand, it—" he fell silent, burrowing his face deeper into her neck.

"It's okay," she repeated. "You can tell me when you're ready. I might not understand, but does that mean I can't just be here, like I am now?" She looked at the sun shining through his hair, the reds breaking into different shades within the strands. "I'm sorry; I know I'm not the best at being comforting, but I don't want… I don't like to see you this way. I wish—please, let me know how I can help."

"This helps," he finally mumbled. "It helps." He pulled away, one hand leaving her to readjust the circlet on her head. "I shouldn't ask, but it—I just want—" He rested his forehead against hers. "Forgive me…." She tilted her head in invitation and he pressed his lips to hers gently. She'd never had a sorrowful kiss before, but that's what it was: slow, sad, lingering, healing in its own way. "You'd really go with me, if they force me?" he asked, the words tickling her mouth.

"I will." He kissed her again; the act this time was flavored with unspoken gratitude.

"I don't want to go back."

"Then don't. I'll stay here with you."

"You'll miss the Festival." She leaned over and brushed her lips across the skin of his neck, tasting the salt of his sweat.

"I don't care." She breathed in his scent, closing her eyes. "There's always another festival."

"That lawyer," he sighed. "Do you think he'll come looking for us?"

"Undoubtedly. But the Storyteller might persuade him to wait." He pulled her away gently, cupping her face and tilting it up to look into her eyes. His thumb ran along her cheek, catching at her skin.

"Eve, you—I've never, erm…" He stared at spot on her forehead. "I'm not the best at speaking of my emotions. Even though everyone claims that I wear my heart on my sleeve, most of the time they end up mistaken about my true feelings. But I just, I mean, since we're here alone right now…. I just wanted you to know that I've never felt this way about… well, anyone. Not ever."

"Me either—well, obviously," she muttered. It wasn't as though she'd even had any sort of romantic interest come calling before he made the effort.

"I mean it. I think that… I think that I'm falling for you." He took a quick breath. "And I don't know what to do about it."

"You think that I do?"

"No, that's not—I mean that 'tis just," he stammered, making a loud sound of frustration. "I'm sorry, everything I say sounds better in my mind. I can't get it to come out right." He looked away, scratching his chin. "'Tis only that I fear that there will come a time where I won't be able to control myself around you as I'm able to now."

"What?" He flushed.

"Um, that is… I want you."

"I-I don't understand." At least, she didn't _think_ that she did. Surely he didn't mean….

"I want you, as in I want us to… one day… rather, one time… well, no, more than once, really… I mean that I want you as in… staying-the-night sort of want." He hazarded a glance and paled. "Of course, not now! I mean, I know you're not ready and—f-forgive me, I should never have brought it up, I didn't mean to press you, it's not—" Again her hand clapped over his mouth, and he obediently fell silent. She waited a moment before removing it and allowing him to continue. "It's just that… when you said 'as your girlfriend', I realized it was the first time you used that term. It made me… I liked it. The thought of it, I mean. That you're mine—my girlfriend, that is." He coughed. "I'm not overly-possessive, I promise."

"It's a little childish, isn't it?" she mumbled. "We're both well into our twenties. Boyfriend and girlfriend are _playground_ terms, rather than for adults."

"I don't see the problem with it," he replied sensibly. "What else could I call you? Partner?"

"We're not detectives," she complained. He laughed, and she smiled at the sound. So she could still make him laugh… good.

"Sweetheart?" he tried.

"Eww." He leaned in, voice lowering to the husky tone he adopted the last few times he went about trying to coax a kiss from her.

" _Lover_?" She must have glared at him without even realizing it, as he backed away with another, slightly more nervous laugh. "I jest, I jest." He thought a moment more. "My darling? My love? My treasure?"

"Save it for the bards," she groaned, resting her fingers against her temple. " _Eve_ is fine for now." Still, as embarrassing and pointless a conversation it was, it seemed to be drawing him back into a better mood. She found it quite easy to live with a little discomfort, if he was at least laughing about it.

"My Eve. I like it."

" _Ugh_."

* * *

 **Afterword** : ( _waving away clouds of sad Barnham feelings_ ) I did say these would tie in together, and now in April we're finally getting the ball rolling. Also, despite what you see blaring at you, there's foreshadowing all over the place in this. It's just that only I know what's actually worthy of being remembered, and what isn't. ( _wink_ )

Um… I guess some of this stuff, as well as future stuff, be sensitive topics for some readers? I don't know. It's not super in your face or anything, but it's not really as skirted over as it is in this chapter. This is just the beginning. Just don't say I didn't warn you.


End file.
